the universe has chosen you as its vessel,
didn't you know?
you breathe in the cosmos and breathe out life to the creatures under the sea
you scratch the
back of your
neck
and often times
you forget
to love the person you are underneath,
you spill poetry into my mind and
draw gardens of lavender and baby yellow tulips inside of my head
and somehow, I became the home you never had;
where has time taken us,
are we where we want to be?
YOU ARE READING
spilled ink.
Poetrypoetry (/ˈpōətrē/) - words spilling onto paper in the form of emotions. creating an outlet for themselves; turning abstract emotions into a tangible mental image. poetry is not meant to be read, it is meant to be felt. *all written content is orig...
