I’m game but I don’t do chess.
I read their books, running to stories that were never mine.
When I hide I can play. No wonder they miss me so.
I cannot give in, nor give up. I can just give.
Why open eyes when the torch is within you.
The best gifts are never wrapped.
If I ever lose my mind, remember, I lost my heart long back.
The ocean’s turned red, trying to squeeze itself between his words.
This is my messy closet. It has thorns carefully stored. Handshakes with ghosts. Names, fuzzy in my mind. This 6 by 6 is a diary. Cluttered corners alive with gossip. Cracked heels reeking of dance, drinks, drama. It hides the dress worn that night. Plastic jewels, marked with memories of untied hair. Tiny rusty drawers, opening to dreams of curiosity, of hidden play. The key lies within, why search in space?
The clouds are my umbrella against rain.