I trust scruffy people who abhor manicures and have toys beneath their desk and graphite under their short nails
I trust bad hair days and clothes bought in junk shops
after all, aren’t we all bags of water pretending to be lakes?
When we’ve poisoned our water with chemicals
and leaning in, smear some more and cross-pollinate
in a mad show of living
letters never sent
disguising our origin
short, sweet and spent
The scruffy people are my people. 🙏 Beautifully expressed, my dear one.
I thought this question was perfectly placed and gave the poem quite a bit of kick:
“after all, aren’t we all bags of water pretending to be lakes?”
This is a distinctively sound poem, Candice.
Oh, yes, let us flee from the Shiny-Happy ones to the company of the scruffy, and even the just a bit mad. <3
Love that line “aren’t we all bags of water pretending to be lakes?” Great work!
I too trust hands that have calluses… oh this line is a winner for me,
after all, aren’t we all bags of water pretending to be lakes?
đź’™
Humbling
Thank you so much dear Bartholomew I appreciate you
Thank you deeply my friend. I really appreciate you
Thank you so much dearest Tre
Hello lovely lovely woman – thank you for reading and for being here my friend
You’re most welcome.
🥰 (((hugs)))
We are who we want to be.
now that it something I think worthy of a tattoo