I'm seeking answers in poetry;
Life's struggles make a grown man plummet.
Why do pain, pillage, and tears feel like rush hour?
I'm trying to fish for the truth like a pilchard
In the darkness of my lonely heart.
But this pain acts as a prompt;
I dress in a pinafore
To dance with demons
In order to pickpocket.
I have the placebo, but pain is like plaster of Paris.
I'm hypersensitive to the emotion of pain,
But I'll grow like I'm harvesting wisdom
And I'll peter out.
Silence is healing.
YOU ARE READING
WHO CURSED YOU IN SILENCE?
PoesíaAs I stood at the line of silence, death in my darkest days, a bird sang within me, "Who cursed you in silence?" It was the darkest days I asked myself. How am I going to change blue to purple? This question became the catalyst for my odyssey from s...
