art
Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Short Talk on being an Insomniac Dream Addict
I toss and turn under colourful covers, my attempts to rest peacefully under white noise ignored by stubborn human functions. I restlessly press my eyes together, desperately distracted by the stars that shoot across my mind; I cling to them, hoping they’ll fly me away. Instead, I examine them in the dark hours, delaying the drift. When the clocks pass to AM I’m still here, dreaming with eyes wide open. The other night I could not pull my gaze away from the image of singing a flowerful melody for packed bleachers and theatre seats. Wandering with the feelings of ecstatic excitement, I promptly sat up to write this piece.
By Mya Doerksen2 years ago in Poets
Short Talk on my Reflection
I’ve discovered that time travel and the epitome of magic begins with our reflection, the tugging urge to press our fingertips against the clear glass and melt into another world. Were people as enchanted by rusted silver as we are with our bathroom fixtures? In the evening, I lock myself in the bathroom, when every sound is asleep. I gaze at the figure in mismatched pyjamas and flip a coin to decide whether to smile or cry. I fix my fingers through the folds of soft cheap fabric and impulsively clean the counters to procrastinate my bodily needs. Sometimes the anger boils so hot I come inches away from 7 years of bad luck. Instead, I splash the cold water over my many faces and fingers and decide it's time for bed.
By Mya Doerksen2 years ago in Poets
