Who wants to hear your dreams?

Creative Writing Poetry

Joni’s looking at both sides of the clouds, and I wonder what could make me feel like I’m not walking on a marble. I’m hidden under the swirls of smoke from stolen cigars, though maybe I’ve stolen the smoke this time, and no, I don’t inhale, I know to hold clouds in my mouth and speak with marbles under my tongue. Isn’t laughter something like this? It seems Joni has nothing to say to me but she’s busy tuning up, and anyway, I always preferred “Carey” in the days when I knew how to hold a guitar and catch the eye of a sweet boy watching me flirt with songs. Yes, the last exhale left memory haze inside the ice at the bottom of my empty glass. Joni can sing about all the ways I didn’t know how to love, I can’t break a marble between my toes.

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