they aren't poetry. they weren't made
of beautiful words that rolled off of the tongue
their smile wasn't as bright as the sun
and their eyes didn't hold the fucking stars
they were none of these things
they were real
they were flawed
they were raw
they said what was on their mind
and in their heart
and yes some days
the world felt heavy and dark
and hopeless, but they wiped away
their tears, picked up the jagged pieces
and carried on
because long ago they realized
no one would be there
to wrap their arms around their shoulders
to kiss their wounds
ease their shaky breaths
every time their heart was held
by hands who didn't know
how to care for such a treasure
no one, but them
they were their own savior
their own lover
and that, my friend, made them more
beautiful than any verse could
YOU ARE READING
Unspoken Poetry
Poetry⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ if any of the tagged things are sensitive to read about or makes you feel uncomfortable, please do not read! I'd hate to be the reason you feel either way.
