Home
I came home the other night,
my shoe rack filled with muddy wear,
the balloon from my November birthday still hanging on
rather blatantly. Looking like a stain is my window--
a little bit open at the top to let me see the words of affirmation
among the stars.
Pretty, she is. The silhouette of the perfect girl
I have drawn on the canvas in my purple room,
often bewildered, often bejeweled,
and often in awe of the reminiscent world.
I came home the other night,
to the smell of the burnt oak tree
which was lying around near the backyard
reminding me of how dear it felt to exist once in a while.
A lovely serendipity prying its way onto the screen so very near,
as if I am in a movie
where I stay like a stray cat on the warm lap of a woman
piercing my paws of hesitation with looks of idyllic smile.
Problematic she is. The enchantment of a lively soul
that eludes in the rainbow, and I wish.
I wish to see the sequoia once again.
I came home the other night,
tired, and hoping for a sense of detachment
among the freshly wet umbrellas at the entrance.
With the dishes so clean, so white
I can’t dare spill pasta on them.
With the sheets so ivory and the Rubick’s cube so precise,
I can’t dare to be imperfect again.
A void she is. The euphoria-flavored delicacy
that exists within a transparent glass of water.
She opens the labyrinth to her own little lies:
“Water is good for health”.
I came home the other night,
Sequin tops, cherry boots, and flaring pants by my side.
Socks tucked in, the ear-rings peeking
and a moment of fleeting paradise sinking into the
reverie of my own thoughts.
Stood for and given up, I wear my pajamas to bed.
Sanguine she is. The tranquility at the zenith
seems like a moving haze of winter mornings.
She puts on a trench coat.
I don’t want to go home.
beautiful
ReplyDeletei love itttttttttttttttttttttt
ReplyDeleteanthem of purple hearts <3
ReplyDeletewho is this next Shakespeare? Autograph madam
ReplyDeleteYou have not reached home yet. I hope you will someday. I hope I will too.
ReplyDelete