It’s heavy in my head.
I’m a repertoire of ancient, rusty, abandoned, sharp, toxic, metallic junk,
floating upon the liquid of my punctured dreams.

narcotic, chaotic is the wind here
that blows right through me.

you wouldn’t bear a sight of this world –
I carry inside –
if you perceive through my eyes.

it’s not easy to keep shut
my mouth,
my eyes,
my thoughts,
my heart,
weighing, witnessing the cracks around.
and if you think it is,
step once in my shoes
then admire this glory,
a story with seven and half billion
half-burnt pages.

hold, if you have guts, my repository
of dreams-turned-not-true,
of planes (plans) never took off.
and tell me
that I still have hopes.
pick my countless restless nights,
hang them out in the Sun,
and say truly
that it is going to be alright.

I dare you, you won’t.

‘cause, I am a masterpiece…
made of junk.

Written for Photo Prompt# 173 at MLMM

– Alison Saar

5 thoughts on “Junk

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