What am I supposed to say?
That the days have been long?
That I've picked up your bad habits -
that I cough up my stress
and flush it down the sink?
That I decipher strangers' faces
for a sense of wholeness?
Is it too late to want a mother's love?
I find I'm swimming against the wave.
YOU ARE READING
Pages From A Paper Heart
شِعرRead my work with intent, as I have imbued my very essence in the works I lay bare. Reflective poetry drawn from experience.
