XXXVII.
it is no longer about learning.
it is about passing.
i cannot absorb enough to pass.
my fingers grow heavy.
A
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fifteen (XV)
Poetryi prick my finger on a rose in my garden. my blood is not red. i take the wind caressing my face as a silent apology. cover art made by doradorapuff on tumblr. [2015] thank you to everyone who shared with me these short poems as they were published...
XXXVII.
XXXVII.
it is no longer about learning.
it is about passing.
i cannot absorb enough to pass.
my fingers grow heavy.
A
