"She asked me yesterday in art
Why I draw semicolons.
I didn't tell her the part
Where my happiness was stolen.
It's been a couple years, my friend,
Years of a deep dark pain.
And it's not something that you can mend,
Not with the happiness I feign.
You know that I am lying
When I turn back to my art.
You know I've thought that dying
Would give rest to my poor heart.
And you grab my arm so fast I flinch,
You think I've got wounds there.
Up go my sleeves and then I wince
And you can only stare.
It's blank as the paper in my hand
With nothing but a freckle.
You stand and walk me out of there
Your thumb stroking my knuckle.
You hardly blink as you turn back
And I notice that you're beaming.
My heart beats in a panic attack
And my face might just be steaming.
"You're safe," you say and hold me close.
"You can still be saved."
And I don't have the heart to show
The cuts on my thighs engraved."
-c. e.
YOU ARE READING
secrets.
PuisiI am not happy. I don't know if I've ever been, or if I ever will be. Plenty of shit has happened to me, but plenty of shit has happened to everyone so I shouldn't feel special. I just wish I didn't have a normal person's life. I wish I didn't have...
