by
The tiptoed walk...
Tread lightly.
I barely touch the ground as I drift past.
This street needs some rest,
from the perpetual march of the incriminated.
So I will float on by without worries.
Who says you need wings to fly?
My peers can wear cemented shoes
if they do not care to join me in oblivion.
For I reach to the sky, and flex my feet...
a bemused ballet effortlessly graces my gate,
because I will not slouch in sorrow-
nor stomp the ground as if it was ever the cause for mishaps.
I merely attempt to hang onto memories,
both hands full-
as I avoid walking on the eggshells,
sometimes landmines,
or broken glass,
just so I can get to where I am going.
Wanna read more from this lovely lady? Check out her personal blog here.
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