from the bottom up

ground to the hilt

cemented with

every person I’ve

ever been

painted in blues

and greens and yellows

and pinks

from my dawns and

dusks and twilights

and even my darkest nights

a garden in the front

an evergreen tree

right where my

heart lies

skin like unbreakable

glass stuck to bones

made with words

and letters

thought and spoken

and heard and borrowed

front door where

my lips would be

only sweet things

leaving the building

ground to the hilt

photo frames

where I scraped my knees

french windows

eyes to see

reinventing to become

a safe haven

a temple

just for me.


One thought on “18

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