i learned to write on google docs
on practically an old typewriter
in a small house tucked away
covered in trees and decked with tapestriesfourth! that
was the age of docs, when
i'd visit the house every day
like i would for an old friend
with an old friendthen in fifth!
my favourite year, as
anyone who knows me
knows
he knows them mosti 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 novicethen 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 wadand 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 floorboardi thought i'd never return
moved far away
blue faded to orange
it took me a while to get used to iti didn't weave tapestries
i painted canvas in bright shades
i am too critical
they are not enoughbut then it became another home
more of a crowded apartment, reallyand i invited my closest friendseventually my family
it was months of blissi 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 itthen 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 therei weave my tapestries
but i never hang them up
they're still in that boxmaybe 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 •