I write occasionally. Sometimes I am really proud of what I accomplish, others I am glad I am the only person that has seen the nonsense that finds itself on a page without my knowledge. Part of the 101 challenge is to write a poem a month, now whether the poem will be good; well that's up to opinion and I always take those with a grain of salt or simply ignore them if I so choose. I do welcome constructive criticism- this means you have something to add thats relevent and will help instead of just saying I don't like it. So for the first in a series of 33, wow maybe I can publish a book after this ha. I present a little poem, thats been edited so many times I barely recognize ( apparently a writer never truly finished the editing process) but I somehow like it.
become the only souvenirs of
Heirloom
a moment in time given
to the pain that coils about my body
like the comfort that made me cry
when you touched me like a family heirloom
Passed down
Precious and priceless
used and useless
I felt like I was
anywhere but my own skin.
the laugh lines around my eyes
become the only souvenirs of
our time together.
I find myself grasping for memories
that were once as vivid
as this moment.
your scent clings to me
becoming the essence of
another version of myself
altered by moments infused by your laughter
deceived by words that wrapped around me
comfortable, toxic
I don't know why I wrote it, but its out there now.
As with all your writing, I love it. But I don't feel like it's finished yet.
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