Francesca Martin Poetry

And it appeared to me you existed in half-full
But recently it was revealed you were half-empty
Possibly more than half
For you were as empty as the abyss
that I found beneath the conversations we shared
Though I did not realize it until now
Meaningless and insincere
I still hung on every word
So is it strange I would want to pour myself into that glass?
Is it so strange I thought you wanted to be full of more than air?
Well, as we speak my stomach contains nothing but oxygen
A side effect that everyone neglects to warn about
Your brain is grumbling for knowledge
All I tried to do was stack boxes high inside
But you keep unpacking what I taped up for storage
Undo them all
We can call it my fault

Poet: Francesca Martin