the gentle tongue
of my mother picks at me
she has sown seeds
too small for a garden
slim with pickings
destitute and bare
but i have bloomed anyway
she tells me that i will
have to be patient ―
it has
done little to soothe
the bite of a world
parts unfair and unequal
but i sit
still as i have been
taught to do
patient for a
rebirth that will not be
coming.
✧ ✧ ✧
june 02, 2016.
YOU ARE READING
for the faint of heart
PoetryBECAUSE WE ARE MORE THAN THE SUM OF OUR PARTS. [74 POETRY]
