Cicadas and more Poetry

So far no guesses. I would say it sounds like that awkward moment of crickets…but it’s closer to cicadas these days.

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Perhaps it’s the summer, or my new obsession with photography (warning: I am in looove with snapseed and warping photos. More will show up here) but over the past week or so, I’ve been writing poetry. I’ll try and have a longer fiction piece for this weekend/next week. So stay tuned! As for now: another poem.

Rating: PG no warnings 

Discarded Pieces

I can’t help but leave

pieces of myself behind:

strands of hair stick to

clothes, dirty socks lay

bunched in corners,

half written poems

cling to napkins, slowly

disintegrating to dust.

The most dangerous

remains are my words,

spoken freely,

carelessly clinging

to the wind. Are

these things mine when

I let them go or, like

old photographs,

echoes of moments

that once were

but no longer are? 

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