Spring 2018. My foray into glassblowing.
Call me a Fool
My mind feels as if it’s made of granite,
stubborn as the tree rooted in the park,
immovable as an unending pit
drilled into oblivion in the dark.
Feelings are the most burdensome
when they are almost reciprocated.
Like a promise that will never be completed.
Like a story lacking a conclusion.
How fast does a human grow a whole new set of hair?
Are the ends of my hair that I incessantly pick at
the same as the ones my mom would spend hours
trying to convince me to brush? Continue reading “ii.”
At midsummer, I left myself.
Like a ship finding itself completely safe
To travel in the waters, I was no longer