Something I can touch.

Assume all TRIGGER WARNINGs. I've been trying to write about such issues more often and I hope I do them justice. (secret: you might enjoy the poem more if you google the meaning of some of the names). Here you go: "When my father told me we were the gold pot at the end of the rainbow, I was only ten. He loved rainbows....."

Greetings from yesterday.

This poem is on a on a more chilled out note compared to a few other poems I've been writing lately. I got a prompt from TTT to write a poem on 'if memories wrote back'. This is it. It starts like this: "I've spent days wondering what I'd do if someday, my mailbox overflowed with letters from my yesterdays."....