By Nehalem Chudnoff
This poem is an excerpt from my upcoming novel. More info on that coming soon.
With a mouth that said “no thank you,”
but eyes that wanted more,
she crossed her heart to save you
from tears about to pour.
On ugly, dreary mornings,
she’d scrub and brush her teeth.
She’d dress for rain that’s pouring
with sandals on her feet.
Walking right beside her,
you try to be real subtle.
You ask about her hands and wrists
as she stomps and splashes puddles.
You ask her why she doesn’t sleep,
she breathes and sits real tall,
“There’s too much to be thinking,
and my dreams don’t cover it all.”
With a mouth that said “I’m okay,”
but eyes that weren’t sure,
she struck you with her laughter
and shook you to the core.