Author: Thibz
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I know
I know you’re going to want to see this letter Wishing for comfort Feeling misunderstood Feeling confused because they said they love you Feeling used Feeling like you have everything to say but no one has asked you, Or you’ve run out of people to tell, Or people to call, Or people to take calls…
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She’s of Many Colours
It goes up in white clouds Grouped individual but one Every pat-pat against the face Blows as powder And shows as flower She winces when it blows her Its function is to hold her When in public from the unknowing Who would otherwise console her She dabs down on brown And slides it over evenly…
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Too Late
Alas I’m here but you… You fingertip out of my arm’s reach I try and speak but My voice too weak Against the protest of the tick-tock’s Screech You stand apart from I Too distant to hear my defeated sigh But we’re close enough that For whatever wind that throws me, Frisks you the same…
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