(or I Want to Buy a Ukulele)
And play this tiny instrument in a tiny city. Tiny notes soaring from even smaller hands. And Everytime someone passes me, my song will follow them. Caress their arms and kiss their cheeks. Tickle their nose and make them feel relief. I want nostalgia to sweep them into a hug and they will never want to let go of arms made of tiny cords and tiny smiles.
My tiny uke and my tiny voice will sing songs of years yet to come and give hope to children who still don't know how their life will turn out. Our song will paint murals on trains and sides of buildings. People will flock to our paintings like eager doves listening for wedding bells.
$40 ain't nothing to erupting smiles on lost souls' faces. I could make money from playing my tiny uke. But I want ears from all around the world to be engulfed in small strums from small strings.
But first,
I should probably learn how to play something smaller and gentler than me.
YOU ARE READING
Fragmentation
PoetryFragmentation// the process or state of breaking or being broken into small or separate parts. ××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××× It's hard for me to complete my poems. And I finally decided to share some of my poetry with strangers. These...
