(this is actually a real poem and it means a lot to me).
My name is (blurred).
This is my story.
This is our story.
This is the story of all of us who were suffocated and ignored by that toxic organisation.
We have to wear heavy blazers,
heavy clothing, all the time.
Even in the 30 degree Celsius heat.
The government has a counselling program.
The counsellor lied to us all.
The counsellor hates us all.
It's like hell out there,
not allowed our own haircuts,
piercings or coloured hair.
And the worst thing:
They claim to support us.
And yet they suffocate us, to die alone.
@Roseabellawitch knows what this is bout.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
PoesíaA bunch of poems cause apparently they're good. Advice wanted please. TriggerWarnings (one mention of self-harm so far, there's a warning, and a few of the stories end in suicide.)
