lily pads & lotuses

More by elise.writer

  • fragile foundation

    every twist of inadequacy's blade

    (each one worse than the previous)

    fell in a rhythmic order, one that your silence

    carried in. did you hate me?

    you'd never say so. so blindly, i never changed.

  • sunday nights

    sunday nights are my own.

    old music in the corners of my mind

    pen scratches on paper, ten thousand poems

    two hundred and seventy-two

    little golden lights, 4 walls

    that mirror my soul.