isn't it funny how poetic sadness is?
how when we are bare
we compare ourselves to the trees, so stripped and vulnerable
or the cracks in the road, so deep and wretched
when sadness bares it's ugly teeth
we don't run
we don't fight
we turn our pretty heads and face another brisk winter like we are supposed to
we grow leaves and pave our sorrows
only to be blown away again
some minutes later
bending like the thin, frozen branches
brittle to the touch,
yet never ceasing breath
YOU ARE READING
ode to simplicity
Poetrypoems, thoughts, and pain for those who admire the clouds the same
