I'm tired of being a metaphor.
I want to be concrete.
The creaking of a door,
the flickering of the streetlight outside,
the rustling of sheets,
the 'I missed you'; 'I'm sorry I'm home late.'
I'm tired of being 'a symphony',
of having 'sapphire eyes',
of having 'freckle constellations'.
I no longer am an 'explosion',
a 'hurricane',
or 'the ocean after a storm'.
(I wanted to be me,
for you.)
I want to be real.
Plausible.
Plausible like a preying mantis eating prayers.
Miraculous as an eclipse outside a Denny's.
I want to make ordinary beautiful.
But,
I am a metaphor.
I am everything
but me...
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About the Creator
A. Stewart
I am a YA author living on the West-Coast of Canada.
Find my book reviews at: wonderbreadreads
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