Kinsey Peterson

Composure is the beige of a new suit;

It whispers like ghosts

And coats the inside of your tongue like medicine.

It smells of bodies forced against one another in a small room;

It is the rotting body of someone forgotten.

It confines me.


Composure is grass-green in the morning dew;

It whips like the wind in trees

And tastes like dirt.

It fills my skull like the burning smoke of a fireplace

And stands tall and firm like the trees.

It empowers me.


Composure is the distorted clear of fresh water.

It grates like stones crushing one another.

It drips down the back of your throat like the blood from your bitten lip

And has the unmistakable scent of rusting iron.

It is murky like a dirty pool and filled with mud.

It burdens me.

  • Author: Kinsey Peterson (Offline Offline)
  • Published: May 9th, 2023 08:29
  • Comment from author about the poem: More class assignments.... please feel free to leave critique as it aids me in becoming a better writer.
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 9
  • User favorite of this poem: Rocky Lagou.
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  • Rocky Lagou

    I love this, and I would love to be your teacher receiving these jaw-dropping poems all the time. Lol. Never stop!

  • Neville

    If I had written these words, then I would be a very proud and happy man indeed .. and no kiddin ... Neville

  • L. B. Mek

    beautiful similes and imagery
    I love poems that take a word or a subject
    and dig, dig, dig
    unfurling, excavating everything
    it represents to that person,
    such reads are always
    an enlightening experience
    I feel,
    thank you! dear gifted Poet
    really well executed
    (forgive my tardiness)

    • Kinsey Peterson

      we experience the world at our own paces- no need to apologize (:

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