From the hips up my body is suffocated
In vines wrapping around my skin
Tiny thorns piercing
My bones.
I can't
Breathe my lungs are
Squashed into fists
And my spines folded in two like branches snapped in the winter.
If this is fertility of gods finest flower
Hand me the clippers so I can be free
Of natures sweet barricade.
And float like petals
In the summer breeze.
13.4.16
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Paintbox
PoetryPoems from the inner corners of my brain, under my nails and the end of my paintbrush.
