Self

(footnote poem)

I’m a worn blanket of connotations

Long ago knitted by callused hands

There’s a hole here and there

Yet the whole still coheres

Lately, however, I’ve noticed my edges

And how the threads are beginning to fray

They’ve some way to unravel

‘Til I’m no longer useful

Or able to comfort what’s inside this bed

 

Self

2 thoughts on “Self

Sock it to me

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