If this cul-de-sac could talk It would tells tales of break downs tantrums & panic attacks. It would tell stories of blood shot eyes and wordless journaling. It is where I first put pen to paper outside of my middle school English class. It is anything but natural. There are trees, yes, but even the soil feels man made, intentional. My neighborhood could be cut out of a magazine, spider webs and all. So, when the uncertain world around me crumbles to mulch at my feet. I venture out, notebook in hand, into the Known.
Hmm, for some reason, when I click on the link for the poem, it doesn't work. I get the error message, "An error occurred. Please try again later."
ReplyDeleteIs this poem loading for other people?