My lungs are filled with spoiled milk
My air ways are clogged with gasoline
But still I inhale the toxication
exhale my strength
choke on my language
And swallow my tears
I spend English classes
Fantasising about burying my fist into my throat
And praying that I stop breathing
Because my sweaty palms feel like fire
And my mind is an ocean of worry that seeps through my eyes
Living for society's stamp of approval
I'm still out of reach
Climbing and crawling
My broken fingers don't remember freedom
And my skin feels like boiled water
Because a like is equal to my self worth
I'm still choking on this spoilt milk in my lungs
YOU ARE READING
bittersweet emotions.
PoesíaGrey people with grey emotions. I write red poems about their grey lives and blue poems about mine They breathed in sweet air As I breathed in the ocean. They tasted liquor As I tasted the guilt on my lips. (Stuck, chap 12)
