if my mind were a suitcase

spiky with bright green fuzz
and a beautiful leather handle
papers spilling out the sides 
and large brass buckles half undone 
a smear of dark orange paint on the bottom left corner
and an ink stain that looks peculiarly like a broken pencil 
the inside is made from a variety of patched together scraps of cloth
beige and dark grey stripes in a small square
create a pocket for the memories of eating chocolate chip cookies 
while the speckled yellow circle seems to be bursting with thoughts of the sun on my face
a small pouch formed from light purple silk 
contains the reminisces of my grandmother's hugs
while the old, chipping Altoids tin, smudged with sky blue in places 
holds all of the bottle caps and bird feather questions that seem to swim into my subconcince whenever they please 

 

Inkpaw

VT

18 years old

More by Inkpaw

  • The Boxes In The Corner

    Looming over your shoulders

    Each stack higher than its former

    Every thought and every scrap

    Of an idea too scared to ponder

     

    Every moment that hurt

    Each minute that lingered longer

  • Inadequacy


    How do I push the words out
    From behind my taffy tongue 
    Thick with salty tears 
    And full of grubby thumb 


    I’m a child 
    Pretending that I’m numb 
    To escape the overwhelming feelings 

  • Paper Frogs

    Why

    When feet fall soft but quick 

    Does the hallway extend

    And the hot breath of whoever’s behind me feel hotter 

    Why do I stay pressed to the wall 

    Like a stubborn gruby sticker