she was now
a different chapter
with missing words
a different page
with curled corners
a different book
with uneven pages
she was messy
like the ink stains
on a clear blank page
she was broken
her pieces
all over the floor
she wasn't the wind
but a storm
she could blow you away
or bring you down
with nothing to lose
and nothing to hide
she was called
a damaged soul
YOU ARE READING
tacenda
Poesíatacenda (n.) things better left unsaid; matters to be passed in silence
