Words are worse
than sticks or stones,
because they never, ever
break just bones.
The bones are nothing
compared
to the pain
of your heart
collapsing silent
into
broken fragments.
The bones are nothing
compared to the shame
of your personality
which accepts it all
without a single
needed
question.
The bones are nothing
compared to your courage
so brilliantly conned
and it withers
and it shrinks
and it's going, going
gone.
The bones are nothing
compared
to the rage
of how your mind
stores
this memory
forever
when you never
asked
it to.
The bones
are nothing
compared
to
the feeling
of
being
suddenly
small
in a big
world.
The bones are nothing.
YOU ARE READING
Feathers: A Book of Poetry
PoetryA pencil is the spotlight of a soul. It tells them its okay to overflow. It tells them ideas are art, and that the best ones are masterpieces. Feathers is a collection of poetry by me to convey the beauty and undeniable strife of the world, and emot...
