my ribs are cracked
so much
they poke through
my skin,
and if you really squeezed,
there'd be room for you
to crawl in,
make your home
by my smoky lungs
and near my damaged liver
and if i sewed myself back up
maybe i'd never lose you
and maybe i wouldn't scar
but make yourself at home,
my house is yours.
YOU ARE READING
broodings
Poetryin which a teenage girl writes about girls, goddesses and other shit. ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 2016
