tiptoe these lines till they look pretty
enough to bleed what you've wanted to tell for years.
now's your chance.
tell the lover you love him
and that this love is otherworldly
you can't explain it in language
tell the friend it's not the end for us
but the wings blossoming from your back
need flight like she needs cigarettes
tell the mother it's only a few years
until you make it back home on rusted bicycles painted bright olive green
tell the brother he's old enough now to finish the tune you started for him
on the back porch with a failed voice
tell the father he's the best father out there and that you never lost faith when he was gone for weeks at a time-
tell about the loves you left behind for them in flower pots, magazines, notebooks, shoes, pianos, photographs, laptops, paint, hairbrushes, lanterns, clothes, and the graffiti that climbs the doorway of your bedroom.
tell them before we miss too much of the parties and drinking and serene college landscapes painted over with a yellow film.
the clock on the wall ticks impatiently
but you're not leaving.
YOU ARE READING
little blue flowers
PoetryA collection of original poetry by Ella Petrichor. Highest Rank: #152 in Poetry (6/14/18) **COMPLETED** ::Excerpt:: "betrayal along the seams" A melancholic pallor lining her face She stood in the doorway Beating the shit out of that old rug As thou...
