PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

She cried;
falling through street lit lyrics and painted nails
until the horror movie screams that played
over and over
through her mind seemed routine.

How long
had it been since the tattoos on her feet
flew forward from one fence to the next
finding that each yard held the same potted plants
and spider webs?
She baked cookies
and tucked dreams into each heart cut
out of soft dough.
But my,
how the cookie crumbles
when untrained fingers fumble over words
in strange tongues.

At some point she slipped past the
chicken scratch hand writing
and knelt on wood floors
just to feel her skin scream
so she wouldn’t have to.
And that happiness she used to dream
but only achieved after breaking that little blueberry
began to slide ever so gracefully
between the folds of her consciousness
until she found her tattoos standing
amongst the exotic fragrance of home
with the only person who ever kept her cookie from caving in.