Walking through, people stare.
You have a place, but you don't know where.
Looking around, but you can't see through.
When they laugh, are they laughing at you?
At you or with, does it matter?
What they think, if you're skinny or fatter?
How do you feel, when they tease?
Afraid to cry, or even sneeze?
When they look, what do they see?
Am I afraid of them, or afraid of me?
YOU ARE READING
broken pieces
Poetrya book of poems // individual shards of glass that attempt to piece together my broken soul // TRIGGER WARNING : will probably mention suicide, self-harm, sexual assult, rape, etc. // not all are personal experiences but some are
