most days I feel like a
feather,
floating.
this feather is kind &
caring
but still;
it floats.
the wind is harsh,
so harsh & fast that
no one
sees this feather.
this feather is kind.
this feather floats.
so fast that no one sees it.
so silent that no one hears it.
sometimes I am this feather.
& the wind is too harsh
that no one sees me.
—b.
YOU ARE READING
THE MOON WEEPS
Poetrypoetry // prose ( trigger warning. blood / suicide mentions & death hints ) [ ranked 8th in deep thinking 31/5/21 ] [ ranked 19 in poetry collection 13/6/21 ] [ ranked 101 in poetry 7/6/21 ]
