Genesis

Thu, 03/05/2015 - 22:02 -- kiarakr

Doe-eyed lids

scrape away

the beads of my dreams,

opening me up to the kind of morning

that mumbles.

 

The me I know is the dawn of myself,

what is left when I

unfasten from my

sedation,

slow yawns and vertebrae that crack

one by one, in formation.

 

I am the dew that covers the surface

of the mirror,

and the swipe of a hand

that reveals the unfiltered crispness

underneath.

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741