Euphoria: A Poetry Collection by Rosemary - HTML preview

I like the warm sounds of the

Tic Tic Toc Tic Toc Toc Tic Toc.

e door between my eyes and mind stays locked.

Until the person I see in the mirror is hard to

recognize.

Sitting diagonal from the door,

on top of my hands

with my snowglobe in front of me.

I hear the tiny tune coming from my mirror above,

then the clocks stopped ticking.

Question of love?

I always appreciated the small things

and yet when they're gone it still hurts.

I’m not stuck wishing I would have spent more

time,

I'm not stuck with regret,

I’m just here feeling grateful for what I had

but losing is always heartbreaking.

Me.

I’m the small thing.

Trying so hard to love myself.

Sometimes we just want to be loved the way we love

but

“how can you be loved if you don't love yourself,”

some say.

What about a baby's love?

A mother loves her baby

but how could the baby even know what love is?

How could a new life learn to love themselves if

they were never OR only shown

love?

But young love.

Oh young love is so painful

like petting an Opuntia Rufida.

I don't typically think of heartbreak

when it comes to loving young.

It's the Euphoria Apartment 162

I am a sucker for the kid in apartment #162. We would sit and talk on the basketball court

in front of my apartment.

Just so my father could “keep an eye out” because

the neighborhood…

wasn’t the best.

I would buy us ice cream from the ice cream man.

Whilst he's distracted you would sit on your

skateboard,

holding onto the back of his truck

and waited for him to drive off.