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By Mia

the trees smothered in fog, clumped into a forest remind me to breathe, 
breathe, 
because I'm surrounded by the splatter painting of mountains,
and the insignificant brush strokes of road winding in every direction - connecting apples to their trees when they've landed a bit too far from home.
 
M

Mia

VT

20 years old

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  • Poetry

    By Mia

    the stench of sorrow

    From dirt I rose into
    the heat of the
    burning flames at your bedside.

    Your home—not lost
    but on the run
    no longer so scorned by our bright sun—
    flies lower than a murder of crows 

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  • Poetry

    By Mia

    The obedience of leaving

    I left
    then was leaving 
    when I was told not to

    but you let so much of a river pass
    by--escaping your treacherous
    burning eyes

    so I bled down the bank
    to where the golden dew shone
    like fiery teardrops

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