In my opinion, every person journeys this way. Starting with the left hand, ending up on the right.
When I was young,
Walks along footpaths always had me gripping the left hand tightly.Your survival instinct, held your right hand in the front, but the left hand pulled me tightly in the bosom. While sleeping, the right hand pushes the work buttons but the left curled my hair.
But now that I've grown up, unfortunately.
I am the right hand.
I know, I will always be there in your heart.
But, I want your left hand.
"My my! How you've grown?"
"Exactly, two hands and one heart long, as known."
YOU ARE READING
The Good place
PoetryThis is a collection of all the poems I've written about everything I'm curious about and more. Literal pitstop is the pen name I write under on WordPress and Instagram.
