NaPoWriMo Poems

Last day. See you all on the other side.

Winning The Lottery Reminds Me To Breathe

I have blue eyes / and it’s raining today /

and daffodils bloomed in the middle

of my driveway / and they laughed with me / and I said

thank you / and the sky is purple / and the trees

are singing / and I remember where I left

the lost parts of myself / and I remember I’m a tealight

at best in this world / and I’m a thimble at best

in the universe / and my fingerprints are shaped

like birds and the wind moved me

when I stood on the Eiffel Tower / and my favourite

jokes gather in the jar on my desk / and a seagull

told me to have a good day / and I did

have a good day / and my smile reminds me of someone

I haven’t met yet / and I met you / and I’m happy /

and I’m still alive.

What are the chances?

Lucky

Interwine with gratitude,

Better wine ages overtime

Throughout travels,every detail

Come out,unravel how one fail

Can push them to sail on often new

Times to be have,experiences

Are undiscovered until they

Are discover,uncover real

Meaning behind conditioning,

Just having breath,center,spirit

Within world,realize this universe

A city waiting to become

Takeover,perhaps,its time to

End this chapter...Uber stop its

My cue,last day of work starts a

New chapter,waiting,to unveil

Day 30 - InNaPoWriMo

I am sad that today is the last day of our Poetry Month. I loved writing these pieces and to share this amazing journey with you. Thanks Rachel for inspiring and supporting us all!🙂

Lucky

Counting my breaths on my fingers,

I consider myself lucky,

To breath in this light of sunrise,

the warmth flowing in my veins,

Walking down the country road,

I consider myself lucky,

the sky is blue like heart of sapphire,

and I can feel it seep within,

I write poetry in pink sunsets,

I consider myself lucky,

converging the heart with little words,

my fingers acting as conductors,

I see the stars from my roof,

I consider myself lucky,

the night sky wraps me in a cocoon,

and I feel safe in the dark,

Counting my breaths on my fingers,

I consider myself lucky,

to live a life with simple joys,

one day at a time.

Please provide feedback if you can. I keep changing this one and at this point I want to see what you all think before I mess with it more. :)

Time

I am searching for time’s betrayal, when it left my side and lost its direction. Eventually it gave in to its surroundings grass sprouted around it, died and re-born, season after season.

And I reached for peace,

where none was found,

only memories blended

together overlaying

one another.

I could not shift through

them to find the one I needed.

I shook memory after memory

out of my head

until I settled on one.

The day I was wrapped in

a wool blanket

wrapping my hands around a

hand painted mug,

with faded blue snowflakes

gazing at nothing and everything

Content at the life I built

from inside.

I savor this keepsake, holding

it in my arms even though it

is too lost in time.

Last Journey

Three o clock,

Hitting snooze

For the tenth

Millionth time

Waking up

Back to bed,

Prefer stay

Asleep,by

The time phone

Was check,all

Clear,call U

Ber,thinking

Another

Thirty min

Of waiting

Time,after

It went to

Last app screen,

It said....NINE

MINUTES,quick

Hit shower,

Gargle mouth

Wash,got old

Uniform

Went straight to

Work,also

Last days be

Fore a new

Chapter can

Finally

Begin a

New

Day 29. Wrote this the other day and seems to fit today's prompt:

Fortune Cookies

It was 12 degrees with a moderate wind

But still humid enough for a jacket.

I creep out in my torn up trainers

While the neighbourhood sleeps.

I go out to my local takeaway

And treat myself.

He asks me how I'm doing from

behind the counter. I tell him honestly

This is the first time I've been out in weeks.

It's hard for me to get out of bed

And even harder to explain.

He gives me extra fortune cookies

And wishes me well.

On the journey home, I think about

the fortune cookies, and feel hopeful.

Not that I believe in them or anything.

But, at the same time, maybe I really have

a shot at a good ending.

Where the main character doesn't succumb

To 10pm on a cold, empty bus with a hot meal.

I let my food go cold before I eat it

To make it harder to swallow.

To make sure I can still see my ribs

when I stretch the twilight out of my bones.

Once again, I am filled with hope.

I remember my fortune cookies and open them,

prepared for anything.

You need not worry about the future.

I think about what that means.

Maybe I won't lose my home.

Maybe I'll write that book.

Maybe the nightmares will go away.

I might even get a cat and name him Cookie.

The possibilities are endless.

I sink into my pillow a little more as I

open the second cookie.

You will inherit a large sum of money.

All my hope is shotgunned by confusion.

Maybe pieces of paper in red packets

Don't know me as much as I thought.

I am unsure now exactly why I am full

And how much is still stuck in my throat.

Day 29. Let's go.

Anna Lisa, The Sun Is Asking For You

What are the chances that we’d meet?

You with your curly hair and me

with my navy blue glasses.

You’re exactly who I’m looking for,

though I didn’t know

I was looking for anybody.

Your face is the moon of a planet

in a solar system I’ve never heard of before,

flicking in the light of a candle I can’t see.

Your eyes aren’t windows. Instead,

glass bottom boats. Turn off the engines,

let me see all the fish you carry in your heart.

It’s warm and you’re wearing a pale green scarf

which brings out your eyes, though your eyes

aren’t green. Your voice is the bird perched

on the telephone wire, singing to the sunrise.

I drink red wine while I write poetry, you say.

You don’t notice that your hand is holding a pen

that’s not there, writing on a page that’s not there.

The poem is there though I don’t understand.

I don’t need to understand to know

you are love. You don’t know my name.

Your name is the sound of a cloud

moving across the sky.

I know I’m a comma in your life, a footnote at best.

I’m happy with this. Falling asleep on the train with you

at 3AM is my best decision. I wake up

with your scarf around my neck.

Out of the window, two suns light up your eyes.

What are the chances?

Day 28. Let's go.

The Mountains Ask Me How My Day Is Going

and I tell them I’m having a good day. I lie down between the mountains which are upturned teacups. Me? I’m tiny teacup. I explain that the spider in my bedroom has finally left me alone. I almost drank enough water today. This isn’t where I’m from. The mountains, I mean. I mean there aren’t any mountains where I’m from and this is the closest I’ve come to finding my favourite place. Last year, my favourite place was Challenger Deep but we don’t talk about last year or how my lungs are grateful that I never had the chance to visit. The mountains tell me I talk too much but my voice is a piccolo. I’ve never heard a piccolo before but I imagine it’s the sound of falling asleep. I’m here and the mountains ask me if I’ve listened to the universe lately. I say the universe doesn’t have time for me. She’s far too busy expanding, planning which suns to create, which asteroids will collide. The mountains don’t have eyes but I hear them roll their eyes. What are you talking about? She does all of that for you.

Day 28 - InNaPoWriMo

Blessing in disguise

What is it?

Now you are angry with me,

drowning in the waves of lost control,

recoiling with the creeping terror,

Oh I see what I did there,

I learnt to love myself,

finally saw the veil of false love,

masking the face of death,

death of my hopes,

death of the nights where I had pulled myself together,

death of poetry, seeping from my ripe heart, through my trembling hands, onto the sheets,

death of all that I could have been had I been alone,

death of my spirit, which danced around, in the joys of miniscule things,

death of me absorbing the petrichor,

death of me who drank alcohol for fun,

death of me who was afraid to lose people,

death of me,

now I have discarded that edition of me,

and have published every inch of me anew,

I am now alone, instead of being lonely,

all because I lost your love.

So proud of you all!

Hang in there Covers! Just 3 more days to go! You've all achieved SO MUCH!

Day 27. Let's go.

Paris: Unframed. June, 2008

I’m fifteen, in a country I’ve never been to

before, school trip. I don’t know it yet

but I won’t come back. Here, I’m pink,

sunburnt. The sun burns hotter here,

so much that I feel literal drops of sunlight

fall onto my skin. Even the stars are hotter,

brighter here, older, more beautiful.

This is the week I start wearing my hair

in a side part. I think the cute boy might

ask me out. I don’t know it yet but he won’t.

We visit the Louvre, a house of infinite rooms.

By infinite, I mean I don’t know it yet

but I won’t see all the rooms. My friends and I

spend time leaping into tourists’ photos.

I think about the tourists and wonder

if they think about the teenage girl

with the side parting. I am a tourist

with strangers in her photos. Mona Lisa’s room

is most popular, she is the most beautiful.

Copies in England are just copies.

She’s protected in a frame, protected behind glass,

protected behind red rope.

The room is most popular, less tin of sardines,

more Rubik’s cube. I step on a stranger’s toes;

a stranger elbows me in the ribs; no time

for apologies. I can barely see Mona

above the moving heads and cameras

but I catch her eye. She’s beautiful.

I imagine how she looks when everyone leaves,

when the lights turn off.

She climbs out of her frame,

slips from behind the glass,

steps over the red rope.

The room is empty; she dances by herself

for hours and hours.

But the lights are on, everyone is here.

I see my reflection in the glass,

framed by her frame. I’m more beautiful here

though it’s nothing to do with my new side part.

I’m in a country I’ve never been to, school trip.

My reflection is dancing, dancing, dancing,

though the lights are on.

Day 27 - InNaPoWriMo

Is that..?

I see her,

walking down the street,

in that facade of skin, blood and bones,

There's fear in her eyes,

fear of her own species,

flaunting smiles, laughs and anger as walk by,

She pulls at the skin of her fingers,

close to nails,

like ripping off the plastic,

tightly bound on the box of chocolates,

She sips her coffee,

throwing awkward stares around,

like it's stolen and not bought,

Gingerly, she reached for her notebook,

it had tiny stars embossed on the cover,

She started writing,

about the coffee,

about the street,

about the people passing by,

then she glanced at the glass window of the cafe,

and smiled,

she was I, now doing what she loved the most,

poetry.

Don't Talk Anymore

Childhood

Comprise of

Systemize

Humankind

Remember those times very

Well,seventh grade,in Spanish

Class,aquintance,whats scary?

A year later in English

We became cool,group project

In algebra class,eating

Lunch in cafeteria,

Talking about blowjobs,what

Ever the heck that meant back

Then,friends laughing,spitting out

Food,mocking middle school kid

Jaw dropping,well,its true,and

Please don't tell me what it is,

Anyway,last days of school

Headphones plug in,discover

Taste of music,head rocking

Back and forth,screaming,UNDEAD

Over and over,never

Gets old,must say,best friends for

Ever.....or so one would thought

Moral of the story,some

One shows up,ruining friend

Ship,or I let be ruin

Try calling on Saturday

Noon,only to realize,they

Were with that person,looking

Back,understandable, you

Try to rekindle friendship,

Spark isn't same anymore,which

Was why I wrote long letter

Release myself from these chains

May peace to never see you a

Gain,focus on poetry,

Acting career,alignment,

Digital Marketing just

Exist solely for income

However,may give freedom

Live life on my own terms so

Friend,no longer bitter,nor

Holding grudges over what

Happen,honestly,we were

Young,with reckless abandon

Have move on to human kind

Who are more in congruence

To who I'm becoming:man

With a apparently Big

Life,best part,I already

See it,unleash,Bendy now

Forever,

Thanks,undead

Sincerely,

Everything

Day 26 - InNaPoWriMo

No more birthday wishes

I still open your chat,

when I am feeling low,

absent-mindedly reaching for the safe place I had known,

Waves of nostalgia hit me hard,

The fragrance of rose reaches into my lungs,

the touch lost in the echoes of time,

I type three words,

delete it all,

how are you sounding a bit out of the way now,

you were hurting,

I knew all your aches,

saving you seemed less evil,

than letting you drown in my dark abyss,

you blamed me,

for abandoning you, leaving you alone,

I could not lift a finger,

letting your grassy path to fill with gravel,

I stare at the ants,

progressing in a perfect queue,

I remember the times I followed you around,

The laughs now buried in awkward memories,

I am shaken awake by the ting of a notification,

My heart races,

and as I stare into my phone,

my face is taken over with a bittersweet smile,

It's your birthday,

and I can't say those two words.

Day 25

Twin Flame

As we sit across the table, the candle’s flame separates us, and I see the distance welling in your eyes, worlds apart, You curl your lips into a smile to hide your distain. The disgust of me covered in lipstick. Stirring your drink clockwise, then counter, turning your own time dial. You keep averting your eyes. What is so interesting across the room? I speak to you, but the flame catches my words. Every whisper, every plea burns to smoke. Today, I’m choosing my confessions. I let you go, because I couldn’t hold onto myself. I let your fingers slip from my grip, and now as I watch you walk away, without a second glance, I lost my right, my place in your life. The flame sashays, the candle dripping my tears for me.

Day 24. The end is getting closer and I'm excited / exhausted. This month has been amazing. I thought it would be awful for personal reasons but NaPoWriMo (and the Cove, obvs) has pulled me through.

Also, I'm new to Star Wars but Princess Leia is goals.

Princess Leia Is A Queen

& i’m stuck on Earth folding a crown out of scrap paper / when I see here, i find myself / reaching for a life more important than mine / she looks at Darth Vader / speaks without wanting to crumple in on herself / like an origami crown / and lie in bed for ten days / i’m jealous of her traveller miles, journeying to Cloud City and the forest moon of Ender / without wanting to stay on Alderaan and live through windows / i’m fourteen again, drawing stars on a world map, marking the places i want to walk / just to pretend i’d travel among actual stars / she tells Han, who she learns to love / someone has to save our skins / i’m learning that my skin is worth saving / and i can do it myself / but i’m still here with closed doors and windows / and my eyes aren’t windows / instead, telescopes / i see the moon / and many other moons / i see where i could be if i opened my windows / she tells Luke their mother was / kind but sad / which is another way to say my name / i place my crown on my head / step outside / breathe fresh air / the closest i’ve got to saving myself.

Day 23. It's not even that good but as I've said before, this month is for me and I love this.

The Archaeologist Excavates Herself

The meteor travelled thousands of light years

to collide with Earth; dinosaurs went extinct overnight.

A crater was left behind. Several millennia later,

a single flower bloomed in the middle of the crater.

It wilts and grows back brighter. Dinosaur bones

are dusted, displayed in museums. Parts of dinosaurs are

found in

chickens, sharks, platypuses

evolved, still alive.

My meteor arrived at 1AM and I almost

didn’t survive; my joy was close to extinction.

I, too, have craters from cosmic events.

For years, I scattered seeds in all my wounds,

pulled flowers through the craters myself.

I dust off parts of past me that might be worth displaying

in my museum. Joy is found in

George, poetry, fresh air

evolved, still alive.

Younger self

You forgotten

Who you are,have

You?do you know

Who you could have

Been?satisfied

With terrified

Exploration?

What has become

Of you,soldier?

Enigma,you

Wish to remain

Impossible

To believe you

Once believe in

Your dreams,only

For nightmares to

Eat you alive

Bendy,embrace

Your essence,and

You will be found

Yes,everyone

From musical

Class is ahead

Of you,Bendy

Compete with your

Potential,not

Comparison

Game,acting will

Come back,as long

As you believe

It will,Bendy

Your dreams are not

Gone,they are still

Here,poetry

Acting,movies

Hard,scream out your

Words of truth,be

Cause,enigma

Journeymen,book

Is far from over

Day 22 - InNaPoWriMo

A Poem to my Old Self

You are naive,

ignorant of the tangled traps of the world,

Mistakes, decisions, dilemmas,

all thrown in the mix,

You listen to the cuckoo's call,

which sounds like your name,

the swing in your grandma's place,

pulling you with its gravity,

You heard the fairy tales from your great aunt,

dreaming one day to possess the spirit of the warriors,

the teenage reality,

breaking you down into tears,

You trusted your heart,

with people who never knew how to keep theirs in one piece,

handing over the keys of your vulnerabilities,

resigning yourself to fate,

You are me, and I am you,

with the layers of time lodged between us,

The moments like fluid,

flowing through the perceived reality,

I won't ask you to change anything,

because all that will happen will mould you,

but don't ever stop writing,

even when you don't have the strength to pick yourselves up,

pick up the pen,

scribble down your demons,

so that they live on the paper,

within your realm, instead of your heart,

don't embed the mockery of smiling strangers,

just live as you want to,

'cause you don't know how much time you have in this life,

play your role in the cosmic cosplay,

so that when it's over,

you will have smiles in your heart and stars in your soul,

instead of mirroring a black hole.

Day 20. Didn't think this was going to happen but here we are. But it's so late. I haven't edited/formatted this.

The View From Up Here

I step out of my front door into a forest. It wasn’t here yesterday. IT’s beautiful and remarkable: the opposite of my breakfast. Bright purple leaves flutter down and land in my hair. The trees don’t look like they’ve lost anything, they’re still beautiful. Pigeons are nesting: I’ve never seen a baby pigeon before. They’re ugly but no less remarkable. Their tiny wings are growing all the time until they can fly and perch on the top of s skyscraper. Dad says it’s the government, Mum says God scattered Her seeds in the wrong place again, my sister says my heart overflowed. The last time that happened, I learned to breathe underwater. I kept guppies in my heart as a souvenir. I rest my palm against the trunk of the closest tree, it’s softer than I expected. There’s a familiar beat under my fingertips. A woodpecker perches on the bark next to my hand. She gives me a look and I feel like I’m in trouble. She starts to climb and I’m jealous of how her manicured class grip the bark. She doesn’t slip or fall. I reach for the lowest branches and pull myself up. I climb and climb; I get a splinter in my palm, scratch my fingers. When I pass a nest, I collect the ugliest baby pigeon I can find and stow it in my heart. I climb and climb into the leaves which cling to my clothes like sticky weed. Woodpecker perches on the highest branch and I sit next to her, overlooking the forest. You don’t look like you’ve lost anything. You’re still beautiful.

Day 20 - InNaPoWriMo

Gift

She is an example of her kind,

the gold foil running down her spine,

written in bold letters is her name,

the name of her maker in frame,

She is a carrier of evidence of masterpieces,

a sculpture made from different coloured clays with a million faces,

evocating a multitude of disdains and exclaims,

in her audience within a tiny time frame,

She has her curves, is termed boring,

amongst her peers, their voices echoing,

But she found herself home in the company of an equally strange soul,

in a better place, playing a better role,

She was not a sequel to some premeditated tale,

She was on her own, without any fails,

She was unique as an old DVD of your school days,

only one in the collection of her ways,

For she was an anthology

named 'World's Greatest Love Poems',

and she was a gift, now stuck in my head like an anthem.

Aliens

Where did these creatures

Come from???each chamber

Is fill with monsters

Waiting to bite heads

Off...(GASP) spoken way too soon

Clawing the glass day

By day,be weary

As sinister as

A prime minister

They mind control and

WHATS THAT!!!!!BLACK GOO????DANG

GET AWAY FROM THIS

Mutant,alien

Nods in approval

As all seven babe

Sorry,billion

Babies pop out of

Humanity chest

Causing end to

Human race and be

Gins a new,the whole

Alien race!!!!!!

I thought I posted this but maybe I didn't hit publish? I'm sorry if someone finds this in another part of the forum.

Day 19. 11 days to go.

Forgettable

The day after you left,

my left foot evaporated.

It was very inconvenient

but I managed to get along.

Weeks later, my right arm

went up in smoke. My hips,

right shoulder, and the back

of my neck went next,

the parts of me you touched.

I’m discarded parts now.

My eyes are splintered down

to the retinas; I haven’t seen

myself in weeks. My chest

dissolves, my ribs clatter

to the floor; lost jigsaw pieces.

Every poem I’ve written is erased

My heart, the last part of me

you touched, shrinks

until it’s the size of a thimble.

It stays that way for years

until it disintegrates completely,

until there’s nothing left of me.

A country or two away, you find a photograph

of a stranger tucked in a poetry book.

It’s out of focus and faded but she’s familiar.

Somewhere inside you, a tiny black hole opens;

Emptiness you can’t fill with poetry.

Just past your fingertips, an itch you can’t scratch.

Beautifully composed, Sunayana! Heartwarming and love the clever use of rhymes!❤️

Day 18. We're getting there.

Garden

After Gran and Grandpa’s ashes

were scattered at sea, Mum and Dad

uprooted our garden. I mean the flowerbeds.

I mean the flowers in the flowerbeds.

They said there were too many weeds,

too many weed roots. They planted gravel instead

which crunched and grumbled when stepped on.

I, too, grumble when stepped on.

I was raised superstitious, told souls grow brighter

around flowers. I’m still not sure that’s true

but I like the idea of depending on flowers. For years,

I picked daisies and dandelions on my way home

from school; I kept them in eggcups of water.

Mum said I wasted my time but I liked the way

they glowed in the morning sun. I gathered seed packets

in the supermarket and hid them behind boxes of biscuits

and between loaves of bread. One time, I snuck a packet

into our trolley and we were home before Mum noticed.

I stowed it under my pillow, ran my fingers along the edges

as I dreamed of aliens tending to sunflowers.

When we visited the sea front, I scattered the packet

into the water. Mum asked me why.

Gran and Grandpa are waiting for their garden to grow.

Day 17 - InNaPoWriMo

Trading

I wish to be the mirror

in which you fix yourself,

hiding the scars and spots you deem as flaws,

when they are just signs of all your tiny victories.

I wish to be the piano,

your fingers strumming all the right chords,

the melody channeling through my spine.

I wish to the porcelain vase,

waiting for you to decorate me with your favourite bloom,

quenching my thirst with the tap water.

I wish to be the journal,

absorbing the angry strokes and gloomy metaphors,

letting you out of the suffocating vault of despair.

I wish to be the shoes,

you put on first thing in the morning,

embracing the fallen autumn leaves and dewy grass,

whilst protecting you from thorns.

I wish to be the copper penny,

a legacy of your grandma,

which you roll across your fingers, when anxious.

I wish to be the mug,

which is filled with coffee to its brim,

sometimes transitioning into a cocktail with the few pours of whiskey,

giving you the solace where you put your lips on mine.

I wish to be all the things surrounding you,

trading my body with them,

because maybe that's the way I can be with you.

Day 15

Catalog

She pledged her allegiance. Saluted you, sang your songs, only to find they were not about her. She was one of many, you sold the dream to. A dream of her white Pickett fence, A stone cottage adored with oil paintings of sailboats and fruit, Weekends in the country, now printed in a catalog for her to flip through.

Day 14. Two weeks! Two weeks of writing poems!

Great Grandfather

My great grandfather built aeroplanes,

using his wise hands to hold sheets of metal

like a child. He loved his job and took his time

pressing the jigsaw pieces into place

until the plane was ready to carry a thousand souls

in the sky. He never left the ground, never jumped,

flew, or felt gravity pause for a moment

or several millennia. Instead, he left souvenirs

under the left wing of each plane: a handprint,

shoelace, shirt button; spare parts of himself

that would see the sky.

Except none of that is true.

He didn’t have time to meet me,

I don’t even know he name, I never heard his voice.

I know he married a kind woman with a soft smile

and lived in a small terraced house.

He had a daughter who had a daughter

who had two daughters. He wore pressed suits,

held a pocket watch in one hand, a cigarette in the other.

He was stern but it’s easy to picture him

rolling up his shirt sleeves. He folds paper aeroplanes

with his wise hands and lets them fly

just to make his youngest great granddaughter laugh.

I like to believe he built aeroplanes

so when I see one in the sky with vapour trailing behind

like cigarette smoke, part of him is up there.

Somehow, part of me is up there, too.

Who would be at the party?

Honestly,nobody,why?

Content with being alone

Giving up on connection

Long,long time ago,better

Myself became bittering

My life,reality,more

Peaceful,serenity and

Prosperous,artificial

Intelligence replaces

Quote on quote "Real Love" cannot

Be real if it's not meant to

Be,party begins in same

Way as humans,perceive love,

Happiness,ends in sadness

About Yesterday

Working outside in dreadful

Hear wave,as sweat dripping off

My forehead,being late for

Work,just for manager to

Strangle me back and forth,pass

Food to ungrateful one and

Ungrateful two,taking their

Energy and lashing back

At them,being completely

Selfish,heartbeat extremely

Proud,dancing quietly so

None sees it,charging IPad

Clock out,walking,stopping then

Contemplating life choices

Finally,IHOP,hearing

No ice cream,yet steakhouse like

Bacon,as tasty as pork

Belly,chomping Achilles

Heel,Oreo waffles,and

Decadent caramel,pan

Cakes,maple bacon,scrumptious

Meal made up for exhausting

Day,knock out dead,twelve hours

Of sleep,miserable living

Existence,perhaps this is

How life was meant to be live

Honestly, I don't care that this poem isn't good. I have been saying for *almost* two weeks that this project is about first drafts. But I realised it's more than that. It's about writing for yourself. And this is something I had to write for myself.

Here we go.

What I Would’ve Missed (in no particular order)

Evermore by Taylor Swift

Mum’s Christmas dinner

Delicious chocolate milk tonight

Buying myself new pillows

Buying myself a label maker

Writing in this notebook

That Saturday in February when I sat on the floor

of my office under a blanket with George

laughing until my belly ached

Reading my poem to PK in a workshop

AG saying I’m awesome

Watching Star Wars

Being part of The Poetry Cove

Seeing myself up close

Loving my grey hairs

Thinking I’m pretty

Saying I’m pretty to my reflection (and meaning it)

Saying I love you to myself (and meaning)

Being this happy

Past me, I want to tell you