Some are mine because I own them:
My car, my rings, my household things
Some are mine because because they’re me:
My nose, my heart, my burps, a fart
Some are mine, although I loan them:
My time, my clothes, my trust, my prose
Some are mine, but shared in part:
My air, my space, my town, my race
Some are mine, in dream alone:
My eternal youth, my quest for truth
Some things shall always be apart:
My past, my future, my hopeless yearnings
My hopeful guesses, my untaxed earnings.
But only one shall be all mine.
I own them not, they are not me, I loan them not, although they’re free, shared with none, but dreamt of oft, together always, held aloft
By a gentle love of tickled joy
That old story
The girl
The boy
The bittersweet:
Mine
His
Hers
Ours:
No possession dare compete
With those whom we complete
This is both street smart and inlentigelt.
Congratulations Mrs Mailey.
Somebody has spammed your site with this horrid poem thing. Delete it immediateley.
What on earth is all this newness? It’s good btw