poetry

The Art of Letting Go

My screams climb high

and dance in my throat.

A Tango trying to let go,

but aching to be heard.

I’ve never learned

the Art of letting go.

I’ve painted pretty pictures

with the best of intentions.

Brushstrokes meant to

reveal and release…

But are counterfeit.

Copies of the flesh

I long to shed.

The original hangs on

a wall in my soul…

Cobwebbed and dust caked.

Welcoming me whenever I visit.

 

 

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