I walk alone.
My friend's purple hair appears,
Wavy and faded and fragrant
Like lavender. Her outfit clashes
With the burned-out red and gold
Of hers. But they're nice side by side.
The bride is a dear family friend.
Her dress cascades, all divine
Like layered magnolia petals.
I know her like I know Grandmother -
Enchanting, outgoing, and evasive.
They sing I'll never let you go again...
My other grandma loves them,
Full roses and flowering orchids.
It's why my mom hates them,
Choosing lines with no leafy shape,
The curves of nature gone.
All faded-out watercolor.
It's quiet, but my steps still reach me.
Funny, how I never walk alone.
YOU ARE READING
Rose, Prose, Poetry
PoetryExploring topics of love, limerence, grief, and everything in between, this is a collection of 100 poems written over a year. The works both reflect inner emotions and outward connections, attempting to capture the interconnected nature of the worl...
