3.

Sometimes the seasons do not change
and for the crowds, for the sunshine
for fevered talk of heat waves and off days
I still sit, cloudy and dark as the winter

The sun is blinding, headache inducing
the crowds gather and a lump rises
in my throat – they are only obstructive
not indicative, of a brighter time

From my bedside I long to be grateful
for the sun spilling onto my covers
and yet I stay here, to avoid the crowds
to avoid the storm brewing inside of me

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1 Comment

Filed under Poetry

One response to “3.

  1. marotaylor

    oh fuck I feel this so much. Love it 😀

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