Ghost of a tree – A poem

There is a tree I used to climb
With sweeping walls of green,
Enclosing me in another world
That only I could see.

Nooks and crannies in the branches
Became shelves to hold my dreams.
Each bough, a room all of its own
In a home (as I had deemed).

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Costumes of myself – A poem

Maybe tomorrow I will slip back into an old skin
To be momentarily reacquainted with
A memory, for the fun of remembering.
I will cloak myself in a costume of my past self,
Playing dress up in a skin and a mind once mine,
And the wrong-er it feels makes my new self feel right-er.
I will close my eyes and ignore the ill-fitting
Tight squeeze, stretched straps, and snapped seams.
For in a dance of vivid recall I remember: this,
This is what it once felt like to be me.

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