Dear Ana,
Please let go of my hand, you say I keep you warm but you've made me cold as death.
I see you standing there, the spitting image of me if I looked the way you wanted me,
Instead I live in graying skin, fragile chin, hair that slowly breaks away.
Dear Ana,
You want me fragile and small, contained in the smallest state of being,
I can't seem to take the constant movement in my thighs that wells tears to my eyes,
I can't look at the garbage bin as I throw away the life I need to let you win.
Dear Ana,
You're killing all the best,
There's screaming in my chest,
But I haven't let you go just yet.
YOU ARE READING
Poems from the dark
PoetryTrigger warning. To be polite. These are poems I've written. In all honesty not the good ones. Or maybe they are. But they're not my print published ones. I'm not that brave. :)
