365 Days of Poetry: Day One-Hundred Twenty-Seven

self-conscious.
an endless state of being.
not a verb.
it leaves you sitting
shiftless, waiting for
the world to end.
drive through the mirror.
pretend they’re your friend.

speechless.
held in too long.
there used to be songs.
there used to be bongs.
and all the trappings
of tempting youth.
these are the truths.
these are the truths.

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About June Faramore

Writer of fantasy, mainstream, and young adult fiction. Poet and sketcher. Mother. I read a lot and love cheese. Guitar playing singer-songwriter. I also enjoy stepping on the cracks in the sidewalk. View all posts by June Faramore

2 responses to “365 Days of Poetry: Day One-Hundred Twenty-Seven

this side, that side

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