Work-In-Progress

darling, you must see there are nights i cry.
for i am a work in progress like
little children playing pretend.
they taunt me, call me.
boos to their barbie doll heads and rubber bands!

trap me in may where they chained me up,
and locked me in my closet with empty seats.
they made me board a train to memory lane,
find a place that maybe we could revisit and see;

how things had left the way they came
but somehow i question why
they’re never the same.

it’s now 2am. the summer breeze of july kicks in.
nothing old. nothing new.
but this time, this time!

this time,

i’m thrilled.

(k.y)

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