I want you to see my holistic self. So I retrieve the dusty memories from high on that shelf. You with your ears; me, my mouth, are content to exist together. But the dust must be scattered, to rest someplace else. Parchment paper and ink become my conduit as the pictures I paint are the things that I could never say aloud. My hand wobbles, the lines blur, this was never an easy thing to endure. Reliving it for you doesn't ease the hurt. But you should know, just what your stepping into. Long, dark nights, and striking attacks. But I want to know that you'll have my back. And to guard well you must know the enemies. So here it goes, the list of three: I, myself, and me.
YOU ARE READING
Just A Troubled Mind Looking For Peace
PoetryA collection of lyrically inclined phrases that have popped into my head over the years. ~B.A.L.K Much love. Hard love.
