You find comfort in books, the feelings etched on dead trees rather than on your own heart make you feel at ease. You read words to not feel the hoards of emotions that you hold in the rivers of your heart, the rivers yearn to overflow your brain and to show everyone you carry the burden of the world, but you beg to be a person who never lets their compassion bleed into any other mortals heart.
Although, does swallowing your feelings end up swallowing you in the end?
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts for the Eye
PoesieThoughts I wrote down, maybe they'll give you some comfort? "But I feel something deeper. Beneath the fear, there is a fire inside of me, one I cannot extinguish. It burns with the pain and the rage of all the women who came before me. " PS. If...
