elise.writer

Every morning I rise
To solemnly smother strawberry jam
On some sort of cinnamon muffin

Every morning I rise
To toss on a t-shirt  I've worn three days in a row
And brush my teeth for not-long-enough

I've had an older sister for as long as I can remember, but there are a thousand things she never told me. If we could have switched roles, just for a day, there are a thousand things I would have made clear.

And all we do is
Equivocate to
Mislead and reach
Hiding ourselves for
Surreptitious
Words buried no
Longer incisive when
It matters most and
We gave up trying to
Let vulnerabilities
Free when we began

Symphony of colors
Melody of hills
Harmony of growth
Ballad of truth
Rhythm of quakes
Tunes of emotions
Beats of light
Chorales of love

Keys weave stitches with
A gentle touch whispering
To the pain not that