smooth sailing

So here’s a poem I wrote a while ago:

illusions: you took my hand and told me the moon belonged to people like me, even though you didn’t

happiness: lust, or something like it, in the middle of the calm sea with people who taught you how to fly

pressure: you thought I could be what you needed, but I’m this- a tired soul at the bottom of your shoe, a regretful morning in the wrong bed, your own personal thunderstorm

sadness: a 200 pound weight on my shoulders and a 2 pound weight on yours

reality: I’m on a crowded plane, the gentleman next to me is getting drunk, and none of this is as romantic as it seems


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