with the experiences of others, a
professional at rummaging through the skeletons
of memories they've left behind.
and even though
you've chosen what to keep,
the lint of the unwanted piled lingers on
you've seen how joy illuminates
a person's eyes and you've been
wearing it like an autumn sweater -
snug and without haste, like greeting an old friend.
your wardrobe consists of
quiet feelings, like relief
when you find someone you know in a
crowd, and/or anticipation for
a new season
of your favourite show. you wear your hair
in bangs and a knot so you can meekly push
them out of your face when
at the person you love.
the lint has been building into fluffy little balls,
and your sweater is worn and patched.
you've come to realize that all things have
paid a price, yet the weariness you
hold in your eyes is
f r e e
flowers are something you press
be / tween
the pages of prose, but even
those have to dry up someday.
sadness is a face you left in
the unwanted pile, but its remnants
latched onto your shoulders,
and tore them down.
your own secrets aren't really something you'd call
"interesting," so you store up another's and
save them for the lazy days.
but here's a thought:
what is life if you experience
of it yourself? why appreciate spring and summer if
autumn and winter don't
what i'm trying to say is
we're all laced with sadness
but that is not the only fiber