something odd always strikes me when you smile
(it's quite symmetrical, you should know).
the perpetual question hangs in the air:
why are you doing this? why are you looking at me?
i don't like butterflies.
they're frail and fragile. they lie and say he loves you.
but I don't have butterflies right now.
it's more like a bird is trapped in my chest, flapping and fluttering
to be let loose.
YOU ARE READING
poems from the darkroom
PoetryI can't always say how I feel, but collecting poems from the corners of my brain and the millions of half-full notebooks makes me feel a little better. I hope you can relate to them, or at least be distracted from life for a moment :)
