Last night we sat in the car,
against fabric seats,
under our windshield of stars.
I told you the story of what happened to me
so long ago when I was young,
still an innocent time, only nine.
You held me as I trembled and shook,
my tears staining you brand new shirt;
I never realized it would be such a hard thing to tell,
I had always told myself it was not a big deal.
Now you know, but the burden isn't lightened,
speaking of it has made it come to the surface,
and at night I lie frightened.
Eventually I'll be able to push it all back down
and I'll go on like nothing had ever happened at all.
YOU ARE READING
where tears may fall.
Poesíawords unspoken and lost, skittering away to plant themselves on paper. i'd love to hear feedback [it may or may not be vital for my self esteem]; thanks for taking the time to read my sad, silly thoughts. [lowercase intended.]
