Choking on hope.

One foot in the "real world". One foot in the art world. My right leg is a little shorter than my left.

Keep hope.
I'm in
the dark,
with a knife and
kaleidoscope.

Leave home.
You're in
my arms,
like bars
that squeeze
until you choke.

Go home.
A feather,
dipped
in ink,
just so
you know.

Lost hope.
Plucked
it out,
and fed
it to
my folks.

Don't go.
Nostalgia
spoke,
and froze
me to
our ghosts.


Lets go.
I write
about
my wings
and hope
I don't
choke.

Author's Note

you know... cause the right side of your brain is the artistic side.

Reviews

[joshua deathdealer]

I like this a lot. Nice expression and great form.

[bookworm]

This is so honest and pure. It really creates a very tender response from this reader. I love the second to last stanza "Dont go. Nostalgia spoke, and froze me to our ghosts." That's a very unique and profound line that speaks volumes. You have a simplicity that is very relatable....beautiful write...

[SkinlessFrank]

I think you may find that writing about your wings will help keep you balanced in this crazy world. I like the way you have placed these complex questions into short phrases. Stepping out is always scary and is a process that continues as long as you live...at least if you are truly alive.

[Me]

Good write.......nicely expressed

[roarke]

just keep writing through these things. Hopefully the positive outcome of choking is a dislodging of obstructive material.... think about it.

[dukovan]

It took me until now to really know what that meant. I miss your reviews