September 25, 2015

Remember that Friday night

when we drove my little sister’s

silver Impala to Little Clear Lake

on winding gravel roads

but almost didn’t find it

and sat at that picnic table 

in the abandoned park

under a dark sky

with the moon 

illuminating our skin

as we crunched chips and cereal

and you listened while 

I exposed the remnants

of my shattered heart?

 

 

Well, thanks.

I truly needed that.  

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741