My suitcase is beginning to claim
a layer of dust on its surface,
and I hate it.
I hate that I haven't pulled on my shoes
and jacket and marched to a new place in ages-
even though I despise security lines,
I still love the in between of airports.
You're neither home nor away.
It's a wonderful feeling knowing that
you are about to see an entirely new slice
of the world in mere moments.
It's almost as wonderful as
stepping into your closet,
brushing the dust off your suitcase,
and filling it with clothes once more.
Closet
More by eyesofIris
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Monopolized
You always took Park Place,
cobalt tile weighted by your viridian buildings
and crimson hotels.
Meanwhile,
I stumbled over the borderlines and railroad tracks,
toppled over Baltic.
Wheelbarrow balanced on one side, you -
twenties
i’m young & inconsolable.
i slip from your infinity-pool mind &
catch my toes on tiles while you skin an apple alive,
curved crimson rind turned to crumpled core.
i watch my mirror-self cry. o midnight mascara’d mess,
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