I like the smell of old popsicle sticks
I bet you didn’t know that;
You didn’t know that I hurt alone,
And when I am in a pair or in a crowd
I am always alone.
Today I walked;
Kicked an old dandelion to watch the seeds scatter,
Poked an anthill to watch the ants scatter,
Smelled popsicle stick flowers,
Was scattered.
I like to feel your fingertips on my fingertips
You don’t know that;
You don’t know that I want to kiss your forehead,
Touch your face, then hold you
Until we both stop crying.















Comments
these are only stylistic nitpicks, and believe you me, I don't know style.
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-i: a.i,=n_
this is very prosepoemy.
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here lies one whose name was writ in water
nice imagery and touching - good work
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**art requires an open mind**
I love the third stanza. The imagery is...very personal. It relates well to the way I'm feeling at the moment, which is why I thought to look at it again.
I...feel like I want to take you in my arms and hide away from the world. Like I want everything to disappear, leaving only us to remain. I...don't know what else I can say.
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