I worry that i am not myself,
That i have been possessed by some other earth seeking spirit
Because i am human, pulled apart from humanity.
I worry that with each falling leaf
I change into a stranger,
My familiar cursive seems foreign to my inked palms,
These words bandits to my spoken lips.
I am a violent pacifist;
Let my palms run through you in hopes of grounding myself.
I worry that i am the extremities of emotions with enlightening days being as skies (eternal yet changing ever smoothly).
I worry that i have no place because I haven't the faintest idea of who i am;
If life is about discovering yourself, then i am a detriment to the future.
I worry that I don't need to know me when i like the assured sound of acquaintances.
-by holly boyd
YOU ARE READING
Words We Cannot Speak
PoetryPoems; Woe and hope, love and despair Poems mend us, they repair. Broken souls mixed with broken minds, Poems teach us what it is to be alive. They offer thoughts to inspire. They give us hope to aspire, They answer unanswerable questions They offer...
