All I want to do now is to cry.
To fill my lungs up to its tip
with my own tears
and drown and die.
I think that's better than not being able to say
what I want to say;
first, because I don’t have the voice,
and second, I intentionally don't speak up
because I know I might
hurt everyone.
YOU ARE READING
Hey You, Stranger!
PoetrySometimes, when things seem to fall down, and when we can't seek help with picking the fallen pieces up, we tend to do it by ourselves in silence. I want for us to cease believing that we are just inconvenience for others. I wrote this book as raw a...
