It sits inside me like a rock.
It sits inside me like my heart.
It sits inside me like a dagger in a wound.
It sits inside me like his fingers
between my legs, like my feet
in their shoes, like hands
around the crest of my neck,
like time bombs in a building.
The beer just makes my stomach hurt.
It festers. It is a ball inside my body,
sinking and rotting. It does nothing
but make me feel how I have felt
so many times before.
YOU ARE READING
These People and I
PoetryThis year for National Poetry Writing Month, I want to challenge myself by mostly writing about people I wouldn't normally write about. This could include people from my past, present, or even future. I'll be adding a new poem by midnight each day i...
