Aimee Woolford Poems

She walks as upon feathers,
Her stance of a bird; And I,
The unwitting weasel,
Never to be at her high-flying level.
...

Stalk me through this jungle,
Depressed, stressed and death-obsessed.
Lengthy vines clasp my
Neck. I can't breathe.
...

Of blood; of bones; of coursing roads and traffic
That runs through, holding our living tracks in its grasp.
I let you feast, for if you don't
It is likely you shall feast on yourself for
...

I don't want to be you anymore.
You, standing in the mirror, oh I see you:
You taunt me with your imperfections,
With your flaws and with your insecurities.
...

Cement won't fix a broken heart:
By far too simple of a solution.
For by relying on man-made fails once more,
As does your reliance upon men.
...