when i was six my hair
haloed my face and i carried
an imagination so powerful
it would have blown us
all away if it could
but do you hear that
momma's screaming
come down here for me
or my children and i
will motherfucking kill you
for the hundredth time
but even still she yells
and i stare into my notebook
writing why until it doesn't
even look like a real word anymore
i want to float away
from here like a balloon
like a cloud, curls wisping
in the trails of the wind
my pen slips but i don't
scream for a band aid
my hands are bloody
because i'm nine years old
and with the help of my family
i've slaughtered that little kid
inside of me and i think
i'm crying because i guess
that means you've won
YOU ARE READING
you left - sad poems
Şiirhow are you still suffocating me? you're dead. you killed yourself. [ this is a story about me experiencing the suicide of someone close to me ] (lowercase lettering is intended)
