Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Page After Page

This is my story,
wayward words and violet verse,
pages of preemptive pain that bleeds through to the binding,
and I’m blinded by it, unable to see what’s possible for me.
I’ve never been one for trusting,
never really thought I was deserving of a task like that,
but maybe I’m more than I once thought I could be.

There’s a chandelier up in the place where I lost my scarf last night,
and the floor was sticky, slick when the bass dropped,
I thought about the year that lay before me,
and for the first time, in a long time,
I felt excited about being alive.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s