February 14, 2013

February 14, 2013

A Poem by Molly Cara

Every morning, the sky tries 
on a hundred different colors
before it finds its blue. 
The trouble with me is,
nothing fits. 
Is there nothing
to do but sit with sadness
like citrus
and relive my mistakes 
in my dreams?

© 2013 Molly Cara


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Added on February 16, 2013
Last Updated on February 16, 2013

Author

Molly Cara
Molly Cara

NJ



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