quiet blue atomosphere.

// at 11am

honourary

poetry comes to life

Mother brought out the slates to clean

and yes, a

Turtle shell hides in hell.

these thoughts become memories, I think.

 

A boy is friends with two best girls

But can’t seem to become

less lonely in the days to come

Because that boy is me

I

                                      Who

                                      We

                                      They— trespassed my heart and burned my brain

 

Oh, this brain on portable trials

For solitude. numb is in pain

but pain goes away.

Feminist cycles. emo misguided

Rhymes are lame, anyway

anywhere

where—a sad ballad of pencils moves

towards a toe on the cliff. Slowly laying face down. So

confused even with the help.

                                     I am becoming

                                     someone

                                     at 11am. but who? //

 

©Dawson Lehman

2016

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About dawsoleh

poet. writer. student. hipster. cowboy. friend.
This entry was posted in Poems and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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