There are skeletons inside my closet
Some are old and dusty
Others are fresh and new
Each gives me more pain than the last
I'm not proud of what I've done
Or who I was
And don't get me started on the thoughts
Every painful thought
Every memory
Every lost friend
Every painful moment
I am scared of these skeletons in my closet
They are broken
Like me
They are crumbling
Like me
They are the spitting image
of me
But these skeletons are just bones
And these bones I will bury in the dirt
The warm fertile soil beneath my toes
From which these bones and this dirt
Will rise flowers
As high and as beautiful as the sun
And I will climb
These flowers
To the top
Higher than anyone's expectations
I will be the first to touch the clouds
And taste the rain before it touches the ground
I will feel the radiant glow of the sun
While it rains heavily below me
I will inhale
And breathe in clean air for the first time
In a long time
I will come to the realization
That these skeletons do not define me after all
That they should be treated like skeletons
Buried beneath the soil
While flowers grow on top
I will rise
And I will survive
And I will no longer be trapped in this mess of tangled bones
But instead among the flowers
Where I will finally roam happily
YOU ARE READING
Stupid Poetry Book
PoesiaA collection of experimental poems. They're cool, I guess. You'll just have to check them out for yourself.
