carrying a creaking ladder
it calls a rhythm as he walks past,
breaking my monotony

clouds irritable, change their minds
raindrops swell my paper
gentle welts, smeared with ink
I breathe down,

switch legs, breathe again
filled with thoughts
of the elsewhere I’d rather be

I’ve brought nothing to this day;
and no one can call me

isolation whips in

November ’09


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This blog is the collection of my poetry and prose, in chronological order from most recent to oldest.

Constructive critique is actively encouraged!

I am usually singing words as well as writing them, and make lots of other art. You can find me & my other art at any of the below links. x





All content on this blog © Rebecca Tilley, 2003-present

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