these are the stories of my life
hessian-wrapped stones, tied
to my waist, leaving furrows
in my wake. a tiny creative
adventure rustles in my bag; whispering
of places we’ve yet to discover.
some things were never meant
to come with me this far:
- the book of lies i tell myself,
- fingerprints from a house i no longer own
- a relationship never given the proper funeral
- gifts that were returned when we stopped speaking.
my feet make indentations in fields
sown with adventure, danger, potential, defeat.
there’s a chance that the blues
will go grey, the browns will turn green….
and i step on towards the
suddenness of change.
5 thoughts on “4215”
exquisite ! i am always melting into your words, echoing known truth and always left renewed, unburdened and light at the end, as if i was taking flight
woman, you just keep getting better and better with that camera of yours. i’m overwhelmed by all the beauty here and must revisit when i don’t have so many monkeys on my back. mad LOVE. xoxox
This is incredible. Profound truth, deep beauty.
Beautiful poem. Really beautiful. I love the line breaks and structure.
“the book of lies i tell myself,”
i need to burn mine. really.
this poem is beautiful leonie.
Comments are closed.