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Glad Findings
If our corners could talk,
if the swings could walk,
what would their gossips be?
All that was spoken,
all of that talkin' right by the trees.
My friend, our secrets, and me.
Walking and talking, those secrets unlocking;
the keys thrown aside.
When we're together, I don't need to hide.
Staying right here, down by the slide,
“I gotta tell you something, if you don't mind”.
Of course, she didn't, what type of question was that?
Especially after all those conversations we've had.
From strangers to so aligned
it's like we read the other's mind.
Best friends, close friends—
so dang hard to find.
I am so glad I have you
to spend with my time.
I'm so glad we have each other,
the memories yours and mine.
I'm so glad we found one another,
though, it was through our social mothers.
I'm so glad we have each other.
We're so glad we found our kind.
One found two.
We found each other.
One became two.
Inseparable from one another.
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Poetry is a dying art.
Though it helps us find ourselves, reflect on circumstances, and recognize our blessings, it still dies. Some deem it old fashioned, lovelorn. So, what if it is?
This poem was started sitting next to my friend nearly a month ago. I last edited it on my dining table tonight.
Paper knows me the best. It knows everything about me. Frustrations, joy, anger- Everything.
(I know I sound like a nerd— I am.)
Poetry is a journey. I'm glad to have started mine.
Thank you to everyone who deserves it- you know who you are!
Thank you to my readers, you're making a dream come true.