Home
Finally
My soul can breathe
Familiar, welcome
Expand my lungs
Tickle my nostrils
Climb up my throat
To sit on my tongue
I taste the counters
The drawers
The crisp smell hangs in the air
Reminds me
Like half-baked cookies seeping out of the oven
Relaxed muscles, awoken minds
How I connect answers
The meaning of life, of death
My home is my haven
My transport, my breath
To my words
My support
It's satisfying
Like dragging my bare feet
Across smooth tiled floors
Cool to the touch
Every brutal morning met with this night
Of open arms
Spiking nerves up my body
My calves
Calming goosbumps
Settling my day
Like a porch swings with the breeze
Or tap water heats
And makes me pause
under the sink
It fits me
Like the grooves in the wood
of the piano
They breathe with silent sound
Memories
As my finger strokes along the grain
Dusts the silky keys
I'll heave a sigh
Give back my air
Fill the room
Before inhaling again
Finally
I can breathe
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TheRumBook
Hi all! I'm Sophie, but my favorite person/creative writing teacher says that I MUST go by the name "Soflow" when I do spoken word... Yes, "flow," not "flo," as in South Florida, though I do abide there. Anyway, I've written some awful junk (I can tell you that!) all my life, but now that I'm a high school senior, it's pretty good, in my opinion. I'll explain myself the same way I do on Wattpad (username iMunsterCookiez because I made it eons ago): The Rum Book is a real thing in my life, and as a journal it's beautiful. It literally stands for something I can put anything and everything into, yet the beauty of it is that it is welcome to others and their sentiments. If anything I write offends you, you're more than welcome to lecture me. Argue me. Standing up is one thing that keeps us all alive, so by all means show me a piece of yourself. Unless you're telling me that you're righter than I am. In that case, go screw yourself.
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