an egg.
this pain is an egg.
this pain is rug burn
and rope burn
and road rash
all rolled into one nasty surprise.
if i cracked it open, its yolk would run.
a yellow river
an open wound.
this pain is new.
it is fresh.
but it is not young.
it is a battle scene
the sky is falling, my cheeks are burning.
this pain corrodes like sandpaper on skin
leaving me exposed to the elements and
raw.
i am raw.
-r.w.
YOU ARE READING
raw
Poesíaa collection of honest, soul-bearing poetry. these are the parts of high school no one speaks openly about, and they represent the struggles of many students, including myself.
