Sticks and stones may break my bones,
but words
Are scars, open wounds in this costume of a skin.
Feel the transformation.
As they shrink me down to the size of an ant.
Like a solider ordered away, because I'm the problem here.
Rain, drips and drops, or is that tears?
Tears that pierce fierce like knives, violent.
Rip at me from, upside down, outside in.
As you tell me who I am,
Who I will be.
As if you know me?
YOU ARE READING
Symptoms
PoetryPoetry. Love. Happiness. Sadness. Depression. Guilt. Regret. Struggle and Confliction. We may all be breathing, we may all have our hearts beating. But these are our vital signs. These are symptoms that prove we're alive.
