366 Poems: April 11th, 2016

The Last Girl on Earth

Oh dear, I say.

For I seem to have misplaced


as I stand over a sink washing paint brushes.

Oh the day was short, and my creative fervor bright,

and as I spent my day scribbling into the night,

I looked up to find

that my mother had gone to work,

my father had gone to the neighbor’s,

and my brother and sister were already in their rooms

dreaming away.

And it is here, in such a lonely house,

that I feel like the last girl on Earth–

working tirelessly, diligently,

to plant seeds that will grow in a sun

that someday may or may not decide not to come.

But just like these paint brushes,

I will dry my eyes

with the knowledge that I will see tomorrow rise.


I am only afraid

that someday, I’ll look up

and realize that I truly am



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