A little softer
a little stronger
a little more beautiful, please
Move gracefully like a wind among the trees
With all the buzz and bliss not found in the city but in the forest
Straight like planks of wood
awake, alive, a drift,
reflections of true self,
visible no more
like grass buried under snow on your front lawn
fall from grace
how can I make myself less abstract?
how can I make myself less elsewhere?
what can I afford?
Be yourself, with or without their permission
beauty: attempts failed
What is the sum of 10 and 11:
It's your turn! Move into the poem. Renovate it. Knock down its walls. Put your spin on it. Make it your own.