the hurricane ravages
and yet there is an eye.
the rain pours
and waters the land.
beyond it all
there is a rainbow.
it is the fate of the wounded
to always be hurting.
every shattered glass
beckons the expection of punishment.
the first instinct
is in some way defensive.
despite this
i still love you
it is so shockingly easy
to take a breath
and calm down
i wonder how my mother never learned.
one lashes out
against on invisible pain
into everyone around.
pain begets pain.
hurt people hurt people.
trauma passes down through generations
to me
and yet
it is so easy to love you
to set aside my feeling hurt
to see that you are more important.
the love of the wounded
is a trudging through mud
and a slicing through silk.
to spread hurt is to breathe
where to love is to be.
YOU ARE READING
Book #2
PoetryThe old one is old and cringey. So I made a new one! I'm not a freakish middle school fangirl anymore, so you can read my ideas without internally dying! Now, it's meme time. // (mostly short stories and poetry, with a lil bit of meme-y stuff (idk)...
