TRAGIC Poem: Drawstring, by Quinn McGinty

Brown hoodie, faded letters
Lined with fleece and cloth
Might be old, but never better,
I’m not all too posh.
Inside these folds of cotton
I peer out with only eyes
With hands stuffed in my pockets,
I tell myself not to cry.
My knees up to my chest,
And the fabric’s tight in an embrace
That gives me the comfort
I can’t find in no one’s face.
With the drawstring tight,
I pull myself into a cocoon
With the drawstring tight,
I peer for the last time at the moon.
And suddenly there’s
Red and blue
There’s sound, but I can’t hear it
And black dots pepper my view
When finally I come to,
I lay in a white bed
With a hood about my head
And empty holes around the neck
Where the drawstring don’t poke through.

Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film. View all posts by poetryfest