Poetry from Brianna Dawn.


everyone is
walking around with
compasses that point north

i don’t give a shit about
directions, they are all
broken anyway

where is my faith?
North, but hang a left five steps before you arrive
where is my hope?
East, but swing a little to the south with a strong rope

it’s laughable, but sometimes
i desperately desire
for some other type of
compass to be created
to guide others through
their hearts and minds

… don’t even get me started on watches
and clocks that measure “time”
written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: compass

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