without seeing

they scorched my eyes away

no longer could i see

the curve of your face

read the books of old

understand a stranger’s gaze

but for a better part of a moment

i believed to be free

void of self-consciousness

instead it was whispers

the scrape of chairs, shuffle and

d   r   a   g  of feet which clued me in

or kept me excluded

the odd one

obviously, stuck out

so did i ever have sight, truly?


Author: gerbilette

Write, edit, be. Write, love, poetry.

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