Starting Over

Sometimes it just takes the sound
the clanging cry of uncertainty
and a dream pulled in and out of the pocket
then back in again
folded, started to rip then stopped,
hope-stained and wet
to find that the only way it'll ever be a paper plane
is if I scrape the monotony like scruff off a face
with a shiv made from the toothbrush of my decay
and decide to make it my everything
for just because it never asked for that compliment
doesn't mean it was never beautiful
so
in all the thought and glory
I broke the bread,
packed my rose colored glasses
and went.

-anna sluder

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