The Other Teenager

there were very few odd things/ the pink stockings with laced waist strip/ the blue mascara/ the rainbow-projecting shard of glass hanging at the window/ the plastic little miss Piggy doll/ the postcards with well-known quotes from Shakespeare/ the head of a man sculpted in black wood/ the little books with Louise May Alcott’s stories that I never read

when the sun set down I put on my pale magenta flats and ran out
on narrow streets to find the place where the light disappears
I passed over the world as if over a plank footbridge
paying attention to the tips of my feet that drew closer to each other
looking at the old mysterious trees like the Easter Island’s statues
at the red tiled roofs reminding of Vermeer’s paintings
I came back home with my heart in its place in my small room
I sharpened a HB pencil and wrote poems
about the other world in the village with a yellow church
where the moon came from the forests to roll down
over the gravel flooded with snowstorms

I ran between two different dance arenas
and there was almost nothing strange
in the times when there wasn’t yet dust on my desk or in my hair

Categories: My poems in 2016, Uncategorized | Tags: | Leave a comment

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