as they say

Thu, 11/05/2015 - 21:06 -- ieari

you’d be disappointed to learn that if

you traced the veins on my wrist,

they wouldn’t lead you to flowers.


but it’s alright. it would take you

long enough to decode

the twists and turns of my vessels

that even if you did reach the end,

they would all be wilted.


sometimes i look at seeds with envy.


you’d be disappointed to learn that if

you traced the skin on my back,

there would be no wings.


but please don’t worry. maybe

we were just never meant to fly,

just meant to dream of puffy white clouds

fresh air

and the prospect of a never ending sky.


sometimes the stars seem out of reach.


you’d be disappointed to learn that if

you traced the chair of where i once was

it wouldn’t be warm.

not a single impression

of 4 years of trying

yet settling for “good enough”.


but i guess it’s okay.


one night you’ll search up my name

on the last social media site that

i posted on two years ago;

see the profile picture

i updated three years past

and perhaps you’ll wonder

“where did she go?”


i’ll be another face, a distant memory

of someone that you may have passed one day

on the way to school, or work, or the rest of your life.


we will disperse, the river will diverge

and at the end of the day,

i’ll be rowing towards a garden

said to be filled with flowers; with seeds;

with wings; with stars


you won’t be disappointed on the day that we

pass each other on the street.

a distant memory, a “hey, have i seen her face before?”

but no more.


fleeting and transcending,

your dictionary fell into the river.

This poem is about: 
Our world


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