Schrodinger

make me,

unmake me,

unwind me like ribbon,

bury me with all that has died before—

half decayed children and barely formed youths

all me,

all not

 

let petals suture

together into an armor

the world has not ravaged me into a hardened girl;

I take dying, fading flowers and sew them into a dress

            loves me,

loves me not

 

wander deep

into the ribs of the forest

naked and stark against the lush green

ask the earth to be silent for a moment

so the woods can hear me whisper, sing

            loves me,

loves me not

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

Need to talk?

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