Anxiety
She was just six years old when her dad picked her up from school late
Tears streaming down her face as she waved goodbye to every single one of her friends
A twisting branch rising up from the soles of her feet
Encasing her stomach, collapsing her lungs, making her ribcage its home
Residing in her bones, crushing them like twigs
Choking back the tears, not wanting to be labelled a baby
Asking her mom every day to pick her up on time
Not being afraid of being alone but of being forgotten
Walking out of a classroom not seeing a familiar car
The branch creeps up, choking her
Breathing deeply to stop the tears
Until everything stops, a voice telling her that she will never be forgotten.
YOU ARE READING
Bleeding Ink
PoetryI will not pretend to be a poet. I simply lace letters into words, words in verses and these verses are my feeling which have slowly bled through the pages of my notebook. This is my "Bleeding Ink".
