i learned to write on google docs
on practically an old typewriter
in a small house tucked away
covered in trees and decked with tapestries
fourth! that
was the age of docs, when
i'd visit the house every day
like i would for an old friend
with an old friend
then in fifth!
my favourite year, as
anyone who knows me
knows
he knows them most
i only relive them because it was when
i started to write
when my friend spun laughter into his tapestries
and i copied them clumsily, he a professional and
i a novice
then it stopped.
and then i'd open google docs
to find the once warm house
empty and cold,
the tapestries faded and
every step a living echo of what once wad
and i left
the house is empty
the trees dead
and why walk its halls
if they're not kept?
i took down the tapestries and folded them
into a blue box rimmed with gold
and i placed them under the floorboard
i thought i'd never return
moved far away
blue faded to orange
it took me a while to get used to it
i didn't weave tapestries
i painted canvas in bright shades
i am too critical
they are not enough
but then it became another home
more of a crowded apartment, really
and i invited my closest friendseventually my family
it was months of bliss
i painted new canvases
and hung them up on the wall
but no matter how many people
commented on them
it never felt like enough ( i was greedy,
i was selfish, i still am, i still am )
and all my closest friends
have the same skills he does
i never made the connection
i was too blind to see it
then he walked into our old house
and found them again
and spun them back to life
and i came
i ran!
and then he left
i gathered up my canvas and my paints
and i left the apartment, too
and entering back into my small house
i paint there
i weave my tapestries
but i never hang them up
they're still in that box
maybe some day
i'll paint enough
and weave enough
and maybe it'll be beautiful
[ 2.18.21 ]
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Poetry❝𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫?❞ • a collection of poetry •
