Skip to content

They call me Spitfire.

  • Speak, Poet.

Tag: baby

The Roses.

Published on February 28, 2018April 13, 2019 by Morgan FreyaLeave a comment

Today is the day I told your father you exist
And the roses he gave me are wilting on the table
We are not ready

We are not ready

We are not ready
The roses are wilting and I am afraid

We will too

Categories Poetry•Tags baby, father, flowers, literature, poem, Poetry, roses, slam, slam poetry, spoken word

Word.

Archives

  • March 2019
  • February 2018
  • December 2017
  • November 2017
  • October 2017
  • September 2017
  • August 2017

Tags

acrostic american indian art astronomy barista behavioral health big dipper break up breakup callisto captain chance character performer city coffee daffodils dance disney emergency room EMT english erika ERT father feminist fiction fire firefighter flames flowers greek mythology gypsies heartbreak heat poem hero history indian infidelity kitchen letter literature love lust morgan freya morgan sagdahl native american novel open letter paraeducator poem poet Poetry pride rhyme school seattle shark short story sink sky slam slam poetry special education spoken word stanza starbucks teacher tired transgender trinity ursa major walt disney world wanderlust water WIP

The ‘Book

  • Facebook
Create a website or blog at WordPress.com
Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use.
To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy
  • Follow Following
    • They call me Spitfire.
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • They call me Spitfire.
    • Customize
    • Follow Following
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Report this content
    • View site in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar