Inspired by the poem 'Fog' by Carl Sandburg.
He comes quietly, night after night,
soft four-toed footprints in the frosted grass.
He rolls over, and over, stretching
in discontent – purrs once,
twice,
and falls asleep.
Winter Rain
More by OverTheRainbow
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perfect//imperfect
There’s a girl in my grade who cut herself last week.
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Home
submission for next year's challenges :D
Describe your home - outside or inside. What about it feels like your home, or not? What makes a home in your mind?
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that poet feeling
does anybody else get that feeling deep in their chest, sharp like it's begging to come out but also soft as in fire soft, embers in a hole in the ground?
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