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MuseumofMax Apr 17
I’ve been climbing
up a winding oak

It’s stump twisting and turning
I held tightly to my rope

I journeyed past the vast wooden trunk,
past tiny ant colonies, and lady bug beetles

I made my way up to the top
past thorny branches that felt like needles

I found a canopy of leaves and sunshine
as I climbed further up the tree

But my foot slipped, my heart skipped,
and I dared to look below me

I had pictured below for so long,
Imagining an endless pit of doom

How surprised I felt when instead I saw
grass and flowers in full bloom

I stopped climbing then and just let go,
No longer in need of a tight rope

I spent so long climbing
up that old oak

I forgot to feel the breeze around me,
to listen when my heart spoke.
MuseumofMax Apr 14
My story is becoming

I feel it in the wind

It beckons to my soft heart

And aches within my soul

My story is becoming

I see it in my pen

The way words form together

The way that they begin

My story is becoming

So listen for its whisper

I hear it quietly yearning

It waits for me to answer

My story is becoming

Though I don’t yet know what I will write

I know that it is forming

Beyond my very sight.
MuseumofMax Mar 28
How to gain the confidence to complete a simple task?
a bit of a lighter note than other poems I’ve been posting lately…
MuseumofMax Mar 26
You
You took everything from me

Before I was anything at all
MuseumofMax Mar 26
Depollute me, pretty baby
**** the rot right out of my bloodstream

Oh, dilute me, gentle angel
Water down what I call being grateful

Oh, you kissed me just to kiss me
Not to take me home

It was simple, it was sweetness
It was good to know

You look perfect, you look different
I don't wonder about your indifference

If I said you could never touch me
You'd come over and say I looked lovely

Oh, you kissed me just to kiss me
Not to make me cry

It was simple, you are sweetness
Let's just sit a while

Depollute me, gentle angel
And I'll feel the sickness less and less

Come and kiss me, pretty baby
Like we'll never have ***
MuseumofMax Mar 8
With your hand in mine
I no longer fear the fall

I embrace the climb.
MuseumofMax Mar 8
A stolen childhood is irreplaceable

Lost in the fuzzy static of camcorders
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