My tangled tongue trips over words of you. Advertisements
Awake After sleeping for so long. How will the night owl savour The morning?
The cold is clearing, The end, nearing, Winter is no match for Spring.
Bitter cups of tea– Spiced chai for energy, Peppermint and ginger to sooth A turning stomach. Bubbles In bottles of champagne Celebratory and sweet: The taste of endings
We grow apart Only to come together, Another day, Smarter.
Bullshit. I know very much who I am. Sometimes, the pros simply sound like the cons. Sometimes, I win from both outcomes. Sometimes, I’m indecisive. That is not a reflection of the entirety of my character. My plate is stacked, And perhaps my burden is invisible to you. So before you pass judgement Educate yourself;…
Sorry… An empty word A sorry thing A placeholder for an action plan. Meaningless when Given out like Halloween candy.
There are so many things I wish to say to you– Though somehow, today My silence says them all.
“Let go,” I tell myself Of what was And what wasn’t And what will not be.
The heat of Spring is found beneath heated conversations of Spring cleaning and Spring awakenings that nix bad friendships and old love.