In the quiet room where shadows play,
My heart is thumping, “You’re not Ann Sexton”,
Each word is a ripple, a search for the day,
A canvas for thoughts, the shadows we beckon.
Not the heavy veil of anxiety’s grip,
Not the mirror reflecting our battles within—
But the ink stains of dreams, with each trembling tip,
We dare to challenge the fragile, the thin.
So let’s carve out a passage through jungles of fear,
Not bound by the names but by what we create—
At the heart of my stories, I will never come near
To witness the wonder of Ann Sexton’s fate.
I m not Ann Sexton
© Copyright: Нина Вольга, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125030407427
Свидетельство о публикации №125030407427
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