i’m sorry i can’t tell the world how you
mean to me, for i don’t have the ability
to make them listen to my stories of
how you cared when no one
else was there to wipe my tears.
i badly want for them to know how much
i love you, but everyone else has stories
about the people they love. everyone else
is a great teller and my voice means nothing
when blended with the other noise.
but i want for them all to know how
kind you were, that you filled me with love
when no one else was there to sing
me a lullaby at night.
i’m sorry, the world is always cruel to kind
people. and i cry every night because i can’t
do anything about that.
you’ve spent your years stretching your
arms out to welcome this crying child.
i often dream about your old house
because that’s where i go to when the
strangers in my house start shouting again.
you were my safe place, but now that you’re
gone, where will i run to? where will i go to?
i want the world to know how much you
really mean to me, because i want for them
to appreciate you. you didn’t get enough
love that you deserve when you were still
here, and i cry every night because i didn’t
do anything to change that.
YOU ARE READING
Found This Book Somewhere In The Forest
Poésie"Talk to my soul later midnight, when the moon's at its peak. That's the only way of communication that I know, because my physical lips will stutter if I told you about how I want to tear my human skin apart and go out."
