The curtains reach the floor
Number of hours spin like
a color wheel;
The ceiling covering the clouds
blocks us out from what's real.
This bedroom's not the only
room you're in, sometimes it's safer
to just lock the door;
The phone's the only light in this
room, schoolworks make my shoulder sore.
In this room there's just me
and my thoughts, another room
that's got no windows;
Under the covers and over my bed
Too many dishes I haven't finished
Is the sun still yellow?
YOU ARE READING
Poems From Puerto Verde
PoetryDuring this pandemic, we find more time removing each layer of our identity. The deeper we look out our windows, more stars appear. Our hair grows longer and longer. Everyday is spent like a time loop. As Milan Kundera says in "The Unbearable Lightn...
