poemcrazy: pen me in the ink

I was a mountain
climbing myself.
I was a teacher
teaching only
me. I was
yesterday, but now
I’m tomorrow,
a dream, a hope,
a cloud floating
into anywhere.
I want to be
a single blade
of green grass, sharp
slicing open a heart,
a soul, one eye
staring, thinking they
can never know me,
pen me in the ink
of their wrong words.
HT
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