i feel like a gift bag
cutesy on the outside
but worn from the inside,
being tossed without thinking
from person to person, place to place
contents changing, constants changing,
never staying for longer than is necessary.
i feel like a gift bag
that's been weakened
with every trip to the attic
or behind someone's drawers
or creased along the wrong edges
of the soft tissue that make up my brain
that people so soon discard, of ruined visage
i feel like a gift bag
being led on, the tickets
of promises never meant
to be made, feeling their last days.
ribbons are left frayed, thin tears salient
on my sides, calls left cold by hand of silence
by the doing of the tape that greets air out my lungs.
i feel like a gift bag
carrying on the weight
of rotten tree contracts,
hollowed in shining plastics
of cars, blocks, candles, trains, dolls
that don't ever meet the hopeful eye,
bought as an appeasement to the mind
yet not for the care of the delicate heart?
YOU ARE READING
Silence in the Walls
ŞiirThis is for those who lost or found their voices. This is for those who could and could not breathe. This is for anyone who is stuck or escaped the dismal abyss of all-consuming emptiness. This is a reminder; a representation of the hardships we co...
