I had my hands tied to a rope
It arched my back and the threshold
between us made me succumb inside a crack.
My hands kept throbbing,
forever trying to escape from the hold.
I spent my whole childhood thinking of ways I could let loose of this bond.
But my home was devoid of any knife that was as sharp as freedom,
so I was made to endure it all.
The older I grew,
the more numb I went towards that bond.
But my hands kept dripping with my blood,
everything was getting red,
even tho it didn't hurt anymore.
The rope kept getting tighter
around my wrists,
its grip became more fierce
as I started to grow.
I was mentally not ready to let it
drench me in my own blood and
physically I was never given a chance.
Never once did I stopped trying to escape,
but there was never a way out of it.
I kept struggling,
until i learned how to live with the
rope tied to my hands.
-Azmii•
YOU ARE READING
In Verse
PoetryI trace verses from my portrait. A collection of poetries • by Azmii (•Image credits to the rightful owner)
