maelynslavik

I feel like I’m losing

Who I am;

I feel like she’s slipping away from me, one

Comment at a time, one

Heartless joke, one

Unmeant, 

My words don't come

in anything other

than my voice, and

my voice doesn't come

in size-12 Times New Roman;

It comes in butterfly wings and 

cluttered poems and ideas that

To be American is to

Listen to the rain fall and to

Let it wash over our faces, just

As all who came before us did

(not just the founding fathers did but

the children, the mothers, those

Top Gun soundtrack and

peanut butter m&m's and

writing poetry for my friends on

torn-out sheets of notebook paper, scrawling

the verses in pink ink that

reminds me of fairy wings and

“You’re beautiful.”

“I’m not.”

“I love you.”

“You don’t.”

“You live in the stars.”

“My feet are planted on the earth.”

“But your eyes are reflecting them.”

“They’re not.”

“Believe me.”

...but maybe that's the point?  I wrote at random inspiration and when I was tired, but I hope you find it entertaining

“The world,” said Claire, “is a very pointless place.”