I asked for your pain. You gave it to me. It’s time for my ‘what pains you project.’
‘lost at 30,000 feet’
even on your best days
you’re still flying coach
sometimes with a window seat
you’ve finally leveled off
cruising above the clouds
but you don’t have the nerve to unbuckle;
you know you’ll never descend.
the gate perpetually approaching
the runway forever sealed off
pretzels the stewardess gave you
uneaten in your hand.
clothes in your carry-on have dated you
they were outfits for a far more adventurous girl
sooner or later you’ll return where you came from
fresh clothes are waiting
but the pretzels are no less stale.
a poem for an anonymous reader and their pain…
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