Feburary 21, 2025.
for the rocky soil back home
that puts up a fight when you dig graves, as if they’re also pleading no,
and for those tired mountains that frame every sunset with grace.
I write for the feeling I had as a child,
that I was born with my heart at the bottom of my stomach,
and that the pain that crept up on me all the time
was just me digesting.
I write for the crunchy fall leaves
that I would always purposefully walk on,
just to hear the noise,
and how I used that to understand why I was assaulted.
I write because it hurts,
and I don’t always understand,
but when I have next to nothing,
I know I have a pen.
Poetry by aidan haskel
Read 30 times
Written on 2025-02-21 at 16:04
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i know i have a pen
I think I write for the birds, those winter cardinals that flock to snow,for the rocky soil back home
that puts up a fight when you dig graves, as if they’re also pleading no,
and for those tired mountains that frame every sunset with grace.
I write for the feeling I had as a child,
that I was born with my heart at the bottom of my stomach,
and that the pain that crept up on me all the time
was just me digesting.
I write for the crunchy fall leaves
that I would always purposefully walk on,
just to hear the noise,
and how I used that to understand why I was assaulted.
I write because it hurts,
and I don’t always understand,
but when I have next to nothing,
I know I have a pen.
Poetry by aidan haskel
Read 30 times
Written on 2025-02-21 at 16:04
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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IB M |
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Ray Miller |
