Do you ever try to send whispers on the wind,
and if you do, what do you say?
Are your murmurs pleasant and cheery,
or do they come out more cold and gray?
What if everyone sent messages on the wind;
do you think we’d all feel more heard?
Imagine a chance to say all you want
and never be deferred.
I often wonder if our soft soliloquies
do sometimes make it to their intended;
to be able to pour out our hearts without reproach
seems like it would be quite splendid.
Confrontation can be so intimidating;
I often wish others could just feel my words.
Spoken sentimentalities drifting on the wind,
is it really all that absurd?
© 2022 Michelle Cook
We pretended we didn’t know each other.
Then we pretended we didn’t like each other.
And because we pretended for so long,
I think I started believing in the pretends.
© 2021 Michelle Cook
Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/away-meadow-concrete-hiking-trail-5244481/
Here I lay
On my deranged heart
His name is written
Foul and stained
Hungry and raw
Charmed by his voice
Ever in awe
Defiled by him
With every lewd word
The lines of reality
Skewed and blurred
By every confession
He is my only
© 2019 Michelle Cook
He was a touch of perfect
And yet perfect was never meant to last
And the problem seemed to stem
From when the present became the past
Over the years he changed
His familiar face I could no longer see
And it was a heart-crushing moment
When he was no longer who I knew him to be
© 2018 Michelle Cook
Writing prompt: A touch of perfect