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
    bisous :)

  • 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

  • “the book of lies i tell myself,”

    i need to burn mine. really.
    this poem is beautiful leonie.

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