Poetry · Writing

Gripping Identity

She whispered in my dreams

“Live.”
Attempting to shatter these

invisible shackles from an

unhabbited being. Have I

been walking with these
my whole life? The lens

she gripped with her cream

palms brewed color streams

together like Skittles.

I need to taste that rainbow.

Been too naive for rudimentary

it’s elementary my dear Watson,

Live.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s