PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

tiny me sits

barefoot in a church pew

swallowed in newspapers //

apples & lemons & sugarcane pages

words my mouth will rely on

I am with me, with her, with us

faces wrinkle beside me

(I am not paying attention)

vices slick through my fingers

to get to the end

tap on the shoulder,

reaching so so so high

I want to know

how long before I can run

chase these fairies through the forest

share a meal with cookie monster

bubble up with words again

she whispers

three more songs

smaller hands than mine have held this feast

still it is not for me

as much as you are

old fashioned american brunch buffets,

or even sunday donuts on the good days

you don’t have to tell me where the seed of my sweet tooth was planted

molasses or syllables

all my irreverent desires

house full of plants & clutter

more cookies than our mother shhh could count

house smelling all the same

I am tired of missing the way home

the feeling of existing as a doorway

we are knotted now, I am taller than you

run farther than those fairy forests

still I don’t know sometimes

whether your mind can catch me still

in all the right ways

I think you love me in some type of mirror

a little distorted by pasts & rhetoric

but isn’t it me all the same

I think your mind can catch me

but maybe those pews can’t

I keep trying to trap the light through stained glass

hold it in my hands again

two more songs

back when I measured days in trampolines

in homework, or homework-free afternoons

in flips or crackers or looking up at you

in the first things I knew how to cook without help

in new years eves spent alone

in hours of videos with the house to ourselves

I am counting down now to weddings, funerals

times I see my friends doing what they love

thrift stores with my first ever people

days filled with rainbows & for once

not looking for the end

one more song

one day I will try to explain this

in a way that doesn’t feel

like a poem

or a problem

or a promise

or a peach pit you can taste

dreading the bitter end

but until then

oh churchgoers

answer me this

how many more songs

till the end of this break

till the credit’s mine to chew

the ceiling falling green

when do I get to

bubble up with hope again