well, things are better
as of now, yes they are
she breathes easier,
smiles more, is
kept busy day in and out and
shuts her mind with a shake of her head
dispelling disturbing thoughts
and falls asleep,
to some semblance of peace.
Here she is,
writing poetry that pales everything she
has ever written but
she writes to heal,
because paper never scowled and aimed
poisoned barbs at her mistakes.
Like this poem,
she lacks rhythm
rhyme (and skill)
and is as pale as this-
a little numb
but with drafts upon drafts
and days upon days
she'll be herself
and
this poem will be a poem.
~
23 October 2016
11:19 PM
YOU ARE READING
Tasting Hearts
PoetryPoetic gibberish from a teenage logophile where a girl writes what her fingers tell her to on the skeleton of rhyme, rhythm and reason.
