the art room is never the same
new paint splashed across the floor
scuffed boots on the counter
a finished project hung in the window
pencils scattered on tables
paintbrushes drying in the sink
I think of the halls
the yellow- gray
the empty doors and faceless lockers
the art room is safe
from liminal space
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Author:
Kinsey Peterson (
Offline) - Published: January 12th, 2023 15:55
- Comment from author about the poem: Silly little poem I wrote in art class today :)
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 15
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments2
how deep, what a visionary distillation
(this, a facsimile of serenity's
all-consuming nothingness,
that tiptoeing of liminal existence
hugging our now's
within our inhales and exhales
of yesterday's and tomorrow's..)
Brilliant!
I laud your poetry's subtle touch and humble notes
thanks for sharing
This is literally so vivid. I felt as if I were in the room myself, observing and noting each thing as it happened. Art is my escape as well. These " faceless lockers" also serve to describe that loneliness you depict so greatly.
stop seeing how sad I am in my poems lol- I tried to hide it in this one :))
😆😆Sorry, my dear poet. I guess it’s the way my own sadness tends to have such a strong sway over my interpretations of other works that leads me to highlight the melancholy of others.
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