Dear Me

Your silence, that comes home with you

it’s not wrapped in black,

no, it’s purple-blue-

like the morning glory outside my window.

The pen says:

keep dipping your hands in ink,

rather than the paper.

I am a poet but…

it’s a blank stare-

looking at my reflection.

2 thoughts on “Dear Me

Add yours

  1. You know how I feel about the subject, hell… I even wrote similar thoughts.
    We’re not feeling sorry for ourselves, are we?!

    Like

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