Stop Motion

Standard

It was a bad time,

To reflect,

On what I should have wrote,

On the world’s last stack of sticky notes.

I ran my thumb over it,

To breathe life,

Into my work.

Poorly-drawn figures,

Walked to and fro,

And told simplistic jokes,

Until the cardboard showed.

“I could have mapped-out,

My every action,

Months in advance,

Or remembered to put on pants,

Instead of making stick figures dance.”

I pressed hard on the bottom,

Of the pad,

With my thumb,

To begin the cartoon anew.

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