The Colors We Could Be Missing by Ericka Clay - HTML preview

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Table of Contents

An audible heartbreak.

Walking just left of Him.

Up and out of ourselves.

A suffering little fool.

The soul inside you.

The peace in this.

Just call me Gomer.

The miserable weight of my sin.

A hurt little heart.

The science of loving you.

The words on my soul.

The feel and weight of it.

Heart full of arrows.

These tiny slivers.

The dust of ourselves.

Nights of trouble.

Mere specks of dust.

Let there be no divisions.

The colors we could be missing.

The forest for the trees.

Pray they will grow.

Through the fire.

A shrine for ourselves.

He only has to read my heart.

The problem with eating people.

The middle of everything.

Trees I'd lay to waste.

He remembers that we are dust.

Playing with dolls.

As the color of my soul.

Perfectly imperfect.

All the shades of gray.

Nothing in my hands.

This one's for you, Mel.

Reading the fine print.

Bless my rough-edged heart.

Just another day.

Me and my golden calf.

Up, up, and away.

You only live forever.

When I miss this too.

Feeding the hole in your heart.

An empty bucket makes the loudest sound.

A fearless heart in the back of a wagon.

Just your neighborhood woman child.

The one in which I die.

Running with wolves.

A thousand paper cuts.

God only knows.

We don't live there anymore.

Burn those boxes.

The black hole of bitterness.

My friend, Ericka.

Like Marie Kondo, only meaner.

As it should be.

And then I’ll smile.

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