Poetry: Taylor

A photo of Taylor Swift leans against the wall on top of a cube-organizer.
She sits in a lawn-chair, in a flowered and white dress, surrounded by leaves and vines.
Her hair is beautiful and long, her feet bare.

At her feet sit my half marathon finisher’s medals:
My best efforts lay at the feet of something greater.
Her eyes and expression convey curiosity, peace, but also power and awareness.

She overlooks my living room from the frame, our eyes meeting each time I walk through the door. Her photo isn’t much
but it adds beauty to my living space in a way not yet meant to be otherwise.

Because here there is no company. There are, as of yet, no close friends to be teased by about her photo. Nobody to get coffee with at midnight or run snacks to.
There is simply an unending prison of time, and lots of work to be done while I wait.

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