Writing Prone
I am the rotted roots
Surrounded by mustard
At the end of the parking lot
Where no one parks
Because they don't’ want to walk that far
I’m the blossom behind the gate
Where everyone is standing around
Bitching about the wait
I’m the petal at the top of the tree
Above the suburban sprawl
I’m the one who feels it all
I’m the child that's crossed country
More than once
In hopes of finding home
I’m that subtle reminder
That were never alone
I’m writing prone
-Beth F
I am the rotted roots
Surrounded by mustard
At the end of the parking lot
Where no one parks
Because they don't’ want to walk that far
I’m the blossom behind the gate
Where everyone is standing around
Bitching about the wait
I’m the petal at the top of the tree
Above the suburban sprawl
I’m the one who feels it all
I’m the child that's crossed country
More than once
In hopes of finding home
I’m that subtle reminder
That were never alone
I’m writing prone
-Beth F