Without a word, I walk through the bathroom to get to the closet we shared. I find a bag and am almost brought to tears at the thought of doing what I'm doing again.
I'm never what I like I'm double sided And I just can't hide I kind of like it When I make you cry 'Cause I'm twisted up, twisted up Inside
He smiles and points to me. "Mommy said we could stay awake." He giggles. I nod and flash a smile back. "She said she was stressed and needed company."
All you need is faith, trust, and a little bit of pixie-dust!
Poetry is my cheap means of transportation. By the end of the poem the reader should be in a different place from where he started. I would like him to be slightly disoriented at the end, like I drove him outside of town at night and dropped him off in a cornfield. — Billy Collins