hands over curves like
the behemoths we try to conquer in our minds.
restrained urges are not
socially acceptable, we
release them like animals when we
hope no one is looking.
we wait for true love and claim
now as the moment.

I remember putting on lipstick, thinking
so he’ll wanna kiss them.
I didn’t think he’d actually do it.

every evening, they’re in the
grass, those brown things,
not quite a hedgehog or a
badger, right about
dinner time, and
no one tells them to go away.

now and then, we pull out
cameras, snap scenic
country photos, appropriate for
bbc, planet earth, one of those shows that
tells you what things are like when they’re living like they

there’s something beautiful about the
air, about
breathing, about
strange animals rolling in the grass.
it’s like, the world has reached normalcy again.
it’s like, chaos is not as demanding as it may appear.
I can open this window, never
close it, and sit in the
simplest of things.

Meg Eden

If you've any comments about her poems, Meg Eden would like to hear them.

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