The Gaia Zine

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A Room in Oklahoma

A Room in Oklahoma 

My bitter yellow comes with me on walks.

It's a shadow of a past that refuses to talk. 

It's a room in Oklahoma filled with quilted flowers,

A closet with dolls and childhood trousers. 

My bitter yellow is all that I want. 

A craving. A joy. A feeling of distraught. 

It's the corduroy couches that pass by the hours, 

A dainty television that slowly devours. 

You don't know my bitter yellow. 

The aches. The pains. The homemade Jell-O. 

My memories of citrus always seem to sour, 

My tainted southern vowels created a coward. 

My bitter yellow starts with divorce. 

It's a couple that carries lifetime remorse. 

It's a sailor dress that I wore for an hour, 

A dark-blue aura that reeks of flowers. 

It's a continuous trip of graveyard endeavors. 

It's a terrible feeling that drifts on forever. 

My personalized soliloquy with an orchestrated cello, 

A room in Oklahoma stained by bitter yellow. 


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