The skeletons in my closet
have forgotten my name -
their bones lined with soot and soil that's eaten them bare.
It's true, my bones are borrowed -
my skin is lined with guests who've dragged me
through dirt and ash.
Who's to say the soil won't swallow me before I am over -
that my end won't come
in the middle.
This body will be climbed by soot and soil, made richer by flesh.
I hope it waits for permission.
Ready, set, go.
ΔΙΑΒΑΖΕΙΣ
Her Blue Dress: A Collection (Watty's 2019 Winner)
ΠοίησηA collection of poems, cover by: @itsmarrosee || I am the fray at the end of the yarn, cut from the new blanket, before it becomes a gift.
