My eyes are my favorite borrowed things,
I’ve gotten so much use out of them.
If they were socks they’d be showing all of my toes and heels,
barely a sock
barely an eye.
Still, I think they’re pretty.
Everything we have is borrowed -
homes, money, cars,
all borrowed.
Our feet only belong to us for a time, we’ll have to return them at the end of our journey,
when they’ll be remade into something else,
made useful again.
Feelings are the only things I can claim, though I’m not sure they last,
they are of me.
Sometimes they reach out to find you,
smoke tendril fingers searching,
hoping to be met,
to twist into a bond together,
that I know will last,
even if we don’t.
My heart is the one borrowed thing that knows what’s real,
when it’s finally surrendered, what glorious birds will be released?
