it shouldn't matter so much to me
i should know you don't feel fine
it should have been a matter of time
the sky starts to cry
and as do i
what does it matter if i try
id only be telling a lie
ive been holding myself so dear
holding the hurt me so near
the names spewed
the hatred used
more poetic than poison
more deadly than a knife
it matters not what's said
and to think i sound so irrational
when what truly is the issue
is my mind, so feeble after the work
caring and airing my grievances
to say what i did unapologetically
and yet fall short of the energy needed
my knees feel wobbly
my arms begin to shake
and my chest starts to ache
what good am i if simple day to day
leaves me in such disarray?
i can feel my body give
my hands barely catching me
lowering myself to the ground slowly
as my head touches the ground
a hand runs through my hair
fingers interlace with mine so tight
another hand wipes my eyes, so wet with want
i will myself to look up
and i see you.
i see you, and you're much the same as i
battered and broken
beyond what most would consider for repair
and yet
you stand so tall
you seem to have it all
your hand reaches out towards mine
and with every bit of will
my hand makes it to yours
for the first time in a while
i can feel the weight lifted from my legs partially
and your hands get aquainted with my hips
as you look into my eyes
wipe them once more
lips drawing near
and i can finally understand
what the spark i felt, really meant.
YOU ARE READING
I'll Be Fine (pt. 2 of 2)
Poetrypoetry showing my stress. relieving, coping, really. continuing to add poems, sometimes daily. use this as place to talk about your own frustrations and dances with pain and strife
