I left my room to cry in the park.
I hoped the smell of wet grass
would trigger the primal part of me
that fabricates tears.
After a few sad songs,
a few sips of too hot tea,
a few breaths of thick air,
I squeezed salty water
from my eyes,
into my hands.
The dirt is softer than
my polished hardwood floor,
the grass is greener
then a poisonous Victorian hat.
I rearrange my skirt,
and worry about my mascara.
Why must I feather myself
Instead of washing off the tar?
I hoped the smell of wet grass
would trigger the primal part of me
that fabricates tears.
After a few sad songs,
a few sips of too hot tea,
a few breaths of thick air,
I squeezed salty water
from my eyes,
into my hands.
The dirt is softer than
my polished hardwood floor,
the grass is greener
then a poisonous Victorian hat.
I rearrange my skirt,
and worry about my mascara.
Why must I feather myself
Instead of washing off the tar?
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moonsand
Sep 26, 2020
this was truly beautiful. it sounds so “gentle” and “lulling” (I don’t even know if that makes sense) but at the same time it has such a deep meaning.