i sat down beside you
my eyes flop to the desk, laying down metaphorically
my shoulders want to follow but instead
we must listen and write
the grasp on my neck loosens
moving away from the confines of expecting
but a new latch catches me
and you politely ask
"can i draw on your arm?"
you stare at me, one eye towards mine
the other drifting in space
i can recognize that this feels just like she did.
draw me in with the promise
of someone who understood me
but then it hits me
there's no deskface
the bench beneath me is cold and wet
and the smoke flows between my lips
and burns in-between my fingers
the overhang drips icy cones
the reflection of lights on the wet road blinds me
dry places are few and far between
the puddle kicks up under a passing car
not even the steel is safe from the effects of the rain
YOU ARE READING
I'll Be Fine (pt. 2 of 2)
Poetrypoetry showing my stress. relieving, coping, really. continuing to add poems, sometimes daily. use this as place to talk about your own frustrations and dances with pain and strife
