Stories of Poetry and Vice Versa

View.

She sees the things
I cannot.
For she is my guide
Around this body
I used to call my own.
Pointing out the landmarks
She used to orient her to the surroundings.

There go the shoulder blades
Rising and falling with each breath
As he
You
Sleep.

But I don't see that
I see pathetic excuses for shoulders
Too broad
Spotted
Frustrating.
So I take what she says
And compare it to what I say.
So I follow her
Holding my own beliefs
But letting her lead me through her world.
She walks through a wooded path
I, a barren street.
She points to a beautiful sunset
But as soon as I look over
I only see a red streak tearing through the sky.
So I follow her blindly
Walking off my road
And hoping she doesn't lead me astray.
She never has,
Of course,
I've never fully seen what she has.