my mistress
she is the wilderness
the feel of the backpack weighing me down
sinking my feet into the dirt
dragging me back with every
step i take
my mistress
she is the open sky
the constellations set over my head
and the stars burning out
and being reborn
constantly in a dance not meant for our eyes
my mistress
she is the heart on the
face of the mountain
seen by the playing children
swinging on their swings
pretending to fly
my mistress
she is the grape soda
the liquid courage
the teenager drinks
to help stave off the pain
when writing of sad things
my mistress
is the pain
the hole in my heart
that she left
when she went away
way too soon
my mistress
is the feeling of isolation
going beyond shutting yourself away in a room
that need to be closer to her
but the wilderness cannot hold you
it does not have a heart beat
but sometimes
the trees have her face
and you feel so much closer to her
think of how much she should have grown
how she should have graduated with them
dammit
my mistress
is the mountains and the peaks
begging me to come step over them
but they are mere ideas
shaped by the earth
and they only make my back hurt
my mistress
is being alone
where there are no hands to hold me back
but still i do not jump
because there are no hands to catch me
no arms to hold me close
my mistress
is the darkness outside my window
the rain on the asphalt
the smell of freshly cut grass
they do not bring her back
but they make life a little less painful
YOU ARE READING
These Four Walls
ПоэзияMore poetry. Happier, this time. It's kind of forced. But, hey. I'm teaching myself new tricks. And, I wanted to say thank you to the people that have helped me along the way. Hopefully, you will continue to hold my hand when the going gets rough. S...
