Stream of Consciousness
Rasta Life. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
Sunrise splashed gold across the palm trees, coaxing Winston out of his hammock. He wasn't much for routines, but the rhythm of the island kept him in check. First things first - a strong cup of bush tea, brewed from secret leaves his grandma taught him about. Sipping it slow, he watched the mountains wake up, a smoky blue haze clinging to their peaks.
By The traveler2 years ago in Poets
I Grew Up. Content Warning.
When the bell rang, With my little legs, I ran. With the eyes marveling, I squinted. Then, I saw a cart, Filled with colors so bright. Happiness washed my worry, An ice cream was saved in my memory. When I felt my first heartbreak, I sat. With eyes welling in tears, I cried. Then, I heard the familiar bell, Echoing nicely in my ears. Nostalgia washed my heartache, Tears were replaced by a gleam. When I was frustrated, I strongly brushed my hair. With eyebrows creased, I sighed heavily. Then, I saw the ice cream cart, Surprisingly looking the same. Calm made me forget chaos, A sigh of relief, a sign of retreat. Anxious, I walked. Scared of the future, I traveled. I wished to hear the bell, To brush this anxiousness away. To my surprise, I came across it. The taste stayed the same— Full of flavor and sweet— But it was not enough, To ease the chaos in my mind. I navigated my way home, Still scared of what comes next— But bears the realization, That ice cream can't make me happy anymore, Because, I grew up.
By Jamaica Elcano2 years ago in Poets
