Tree sap
I poor it on my pancakes in the morning
i write on it everyday
it dies it dies
i want to to have privacy
so I close my door
i want to eat in peace
so I eat at a red oak table
it dies it dies
and I will die when I have no air to breath
we die we die
👁 4💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.