When you don't know
how you truly feel,
If it's pretentious or for real.
When tears keep pouring
Down your face,
even when you're trying to disguise.
Only to light up agony in her eyes,
Unintentionally burning the jungle.
But how could I not blame myself?
When I was the growing pyrotechnician.
She pierced my heart with
her venomous arrows
whilst I broke hers.
Stuck under the tree trunk of guilt,
still fighting with the voice inside.
The misunderstanding was cruel
The silence is too loud outside,
Amplifying our divide.
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Poet's note:
Yesterday, my mom misunderstood my tears as anger while trying to offer life advice, but I was overwhelmed. My past reactions, driven by immaturity and irritation, made her assumption understandable. However, her words still stung. We both spoke words we now regret. But we made up afterwards.
Here , 'pyrotechnician' (a person who is skilled in the use of fireworks.) is used to represent my fault over the growing years that caused her burst of anger.
YOU ARE READING
poems of distress
Poetrywrote down how I felt at times. not beautiful to read but have deep feelings and messages behind. it's my first time writing 'poems' ig , also English isn't my native language so sorry if I made mistakes, kindly correct me there. thank you for readi...
