Poems from jtysteboe
Freud doesn’t make sense.
Mother: Mary
Does my subconscious really speak?
Love: Fire
And if it speaks, does it speak the truth?
Church:...
The paper sun
Peeks it rays
Between the blinds,
And I reluctantly
Lift my chiffon eyelids.
As I stretch
My fragile arms,
I think,
“This...
There used to be hope
In the shape of trees
And love
In clouds
And dreams
In stars
There used to be
Reds
And blues
And purples
And greens...
When I wake up,
I feel weak,
So weak,
That I can’t even
Lift my head.
But when I write,
I feel powerful,
And I can hold
The entire world
In...
I write my tears down
On my cheek
With a pencil,
Because a pencil
Has an eraser,
And I can rub away
My sadness.
After I erase the paths...