My Poetry


She was in a cold, dark, place. It was Halloween night. Silence surrounded her, but the last of the trick or treaters passing by somehow stabbed through the silence and filled her ears.

She gripped onto the wooden, squeaky, bench and closed her eyes trying to shut the Halloween noise out and grasp this moment.

She looked down at the broken, crushed, flowers laying at the tip of her converse. She did not know how to feel looking at the distorted flowers… They no longer held symbolism, or beauty now that they are broken. Could the flowers be picked up, glued back together, and become flowers again? Unfortunately, no…

She knew she could do nothing for the flowers now. They’re history. But she was okay. She is still living.

She still could not believe what happened, what she did that night. But the one thing she does believe, is that she made the right choice that night.

She got up, fixed her pretty dress that got covered in grass, picked the twigs out of her hair, and she walked home that last night in October, living in the present, leaving history in the past.

Different, but content…

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