Saturday, November 14, 2015

A Poem for Growing Up


We don’t know who is stabbing who;
we may be in a circle
or a sky staring at another sky.
Broken mirrors locked
in an endless, helpless glare.

Note the word ‘broken’,
It has changed over the years
and it means unlike things to us-
An indoor game to you
an intransience to me.
Or simply the jagged corners
of our habits.


Our edges have been sandpapered
We fit now, lock and key,
a pleasantly ticking clockwork .
whirring away in synchronized chaos.

Bumps grow under our skin
Knots left by past winters

I guess it’s all part of getting used to
Getting along, getting old
or just a much washed
threadbare picture of love.



Picture: Pinterest

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