i.
why can i never find
words
in my mouth?
— they lay curled up in my palms instead
ii.
our battles use
wooden swords
and our love
paper hearts
— why are we afraid of anything real?
iii.
my tongue is
barbed wire
slashing hands reaching for me
— my heart is already an open wound
iv.
the art of
healing
is a lot like the art of
hoping
— yet we still build coffins not bridges
YOU ARE READING
the art of healing
Poesíaa collection of poetry ranging from thought-out pieces to random musings. cover// calebwhite13
