Can we find joy here? Our world rife with pain and fear. I’ll think of you dear.
By Claire Gilliland19 days ago in Poets
Your mother gifted me a candle in a gold jar. The wax smells like soap that I cannot afford. A warm glow flickers through the marble glass when lit.
By Claire Gillilandabout a month ago in Poets
I should have bit my tongue. Maybe then things would have stayed the same. Should have locked up my desires, taken them to the grave.
By Claire Gilliland2 months ago in Poets
