Well Loved
tattered
A dusty photo
Riddled with fervent decay
Chases senses, smile
___________________________
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About the Creator
Allie Bickerton
She / Her - Canada
I spent most of my life immersed in visual arts and I neglected my literacy.
Nurturing harboured emotions and poetic thoughts I’ve stashed within.
Thank you for being here! 💕
Keep reading
More stories from Allie Bickerton and writers in Poets and other communities.
Burning
Seeds of hot peppers Are mild compared to your sly Ego burning me ___________________________ I wrote this haiku about a former co-worker that over time, embedded themselves under my skin. I was seething with rage when I worked with them, but now that the dynamic between us is no longer, I linger on the memories and feel sad. I realize I wasn’t appreciated much by this person, and feel very misunderstood and rather invisible, with no hope of redemption. The suffocating egos I’ve experienced and endured throughout my career working as a cook is staggering. Not to say that gender plays a role in being ego driven, but it was mostly male egos that always seemed to end up hurting me the most. The food industry is dominated by males, so it makes sense.
By Allie Bickertonabout a year ago in Poets
Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis6 days ago in Humans
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