May 2013
fivepointsjournal:
The Writer
She has fallen, in the blueish glow of the nightlight,
Asleep, her face pressed in the carpet, her hand
Still curled around the fat yellow pencil
She has used to write my name on the blank page
Of her spiral notebook. Not Mom, but Kate,
The K twirling, vinelike, umbilical, funicular,
Down to a nest of scribbles within which
She must have sought the outlines...
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“The right man will love all the things about you that the wrong man was...”
– (via damnfuckshit)
