I'm unsure why, but mine seemed to drift away
Not both, but just one, like I wasn't paying
Enough attention to what you were saying,
But I assured you I was, especially when
You asked me where I was looking.
And I grew to hate them, the color the
Same as mud, stomped on with careless
Children and their boots. And their shape
Of the cheapest almonds, and their
Sensitivity to light and words. Their
Sensitivity to your taunts. Then we had
Decided they had enough, so I let them
Stick needles inside and woke up a
Drug lord with a redness sharper than
The Devil's shadow, similar to your
Words. But today, they are glossy like the
Beautiful mediterranean. And they will be
Okay. Because they do not see the world
In that careless way that yours do, but
My eyes see its and its people and
Appreciate it a little more than you do.
I like to write; point blank. This is a little piece of me that I get to share with the rest of the world, and hey, you know, maybe you'll appreciate it, maybe it'll do nothing for you. But my writing exists, and that's enough for me.
© 2019 Silvia Iorio. All rights reserved.