~a collection of poetry~
hello everyone, these are all the spaces i take up and i hope that you will join me in them.
this is my first attempt at a poetry book so i hope that you all like and please be kind!
*I do not claim the photos are mine, the...
I'm tired of feeling like all the worst weather catastrophes are inside me when I hear his name
And I'm tired of molding this hurt into something poetic
Because that year wasn't just powdered sugar, Silver sharpie, the soft touch sound of a piano, and the smell of his leather chair mixed with pine cologne
No
It was vulnerable
It was work
It was screaming and panic attacks Muddled truth and shaped tongue whispers
He wasn't poetic and nothing about him deserves to be described as such Because to blur the edges Soften the colors And romanticize the events of that year
Would mean that what happened was ok Wasn't sharp enough to draw blood
And nothing about being the reason someone has scars is ever ok
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