Someone drove a Nash
rambler into my heart.
See these burn scars. I’m knitting them
into poems fast
as I can. Fear is
a cross-stitch I’m
still learning how to work
into a pattern. Perfection
is for the gods.
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Fear Is a Four Letter Word—And So What
Filed under Overnight Poems
Your poetry is unique. I am beginning to understand it better. I particularly like this one. Thank you for sharing.
Thanks Carol Ann. That makes one of us. ; )