fraying edges
I swear, shoelaces have such an easy life.
it itches and hurts
and the fabric label is too close to my skin.
i feel like a security tag that want to wriggle away from its pin
and sky-dive until it's forgotten again.
how to i stop the spitting oil?
and prevent sour and stinging burns
that reveal the chemicals mixed into our fingers
from when we were kids?
is there ever a decent option
that ensures nothing stays the same?
when i know that in my life
the bigger picture wasn't bright
but was unchangingly bland, boring and plain.
i want to make something different.
a society where expectations and deeper and stronger
and don't leave us expecting some UPpEr POwEr
to always choose what's right.
~
About the Creator
Ruby Red
Heya friend, I'm Red!
I write poetry, so subscribe for a hint of vulnerability, some honesty and the occasional glimpse behind my mask 🌱
Taking a break from Vocal; focusing on my anthology 🫶💖
AI is not art.
The Light Turns
It's Tuesday 7:13 a.m. A cold and clear November morning awaits Ray on his morning commute. Ray rubs his hands together in the front seat of his Subaru. He turns the air temperature up, but keeps the air on low until the air warms up. He looks at the backup camera screen and reverses the Subaru out of his driveway onto Trimble Road.
By John R. Godwin4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
well done