Writing Right

I’m lost in the gravel.

Flowers bloom on the surface of my mind.

Roots stretch and wind deep into my core.

My purple crayon is a pen.

I draw new doors and rooms full of ifs whats and whens.

Some rooms shine like a warm “Hello again” from a lover or an old friend while others make you cross-eyed from the mere thought of being amongst chaos.

-so distracted

Ribbon words raveled, blowing in a cool breeze.

Feelings of gliding through air.

Each sentence relieves weight from within,

in my chest,

in my soul.

the ease, as if programmed.