I’m tired of touching myself
where your hands are missing.
I am pushing my weakness out
the window and letting the air in.
I need to breathe, and I need to see.
I need to let the world wrap its arms
around my tired body, because it’s
time I realized you’re not the one.
Kick the golden spindles down the stairs
and the threads sparkle, tumble, and
still I can’t work magic with them.
No coat of gold to rest in your closet.
When I would go driving the sides of the
road were canyon walls, but now when I look
again it seems I am flying high above the clouds.
Frankly, I don’t give a damn what happens to you.
As I suck in that sweet air, and
watch the clouds roll into the valley
I find inside myself that all this misery was
for nothing; I was always right below the surface.
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1 comment:
Love this. The first two lines especially.
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