false hope and regret
are pulled from the
stale air within an old
fridge, to fill me like
i'm a particularly lonely
cup, slowly spilling
onto the undeserving
countertop and
staining my
glass skin
i shake off the feeling
of emptiness that
comes with them
i am not empty
anymore, after all
i am full of things
i never asked for
things i'm afraid
to let go of
i don't want to
be empty again
YOU ARE READING
i wouldn't call it poetry
Poesíabasically, this is like less than half of my poetry journal. umm... here you go UPDATE: 12/20/17 I've been going through the long process of cleaning up my account so it'll be presentable for the now multiple people at school who want to read my emb...
