his eyes were carved in ice and marble
broken pieces of shattered colors
and lost breaths falling through gaping holes
in his small chest
his aching rib cage
be strong, they said, for you are a man
he swallowed the flames scattered beneath
his scarred skin
bruises on his tiny wrists
bruises on his delicate neck
he bites his plush lips
until red cherries have bled
and everything tastes of crimson
tense, and locked with secret words
laced through with blood soaked petals
until the boy with a voice made of paintings
took his hand and breathed
galaxies into his bloodied, beaten lungs
and stars onto his damp cheeks
brushing away imprints of tears
he thought he'd hidden so well
all his pretty pictures crashed and fell
gashes lining thighs and legs
but with each touch, he kissed them away
gripping curls and gripping fingers
holding his small body
he made himself smaller
but he said
you don't need to run
he stood up straight for the first time
their mouths molded together
grasping cotton, folding over hips
orchids blooming so intricately
they ached
healing all the punctured wounds
with his pretty golden thread
his skin was stained with daffodils
his throat painted in cinnamon
and he held him under a fallen sky
his eyes like
stained glass
you're so pretty, you're so beautiful. it will get better. you don't need to be so strong all the time. let yourself feel. it's okay to feel. it's okay.
YOU ARE READING
lovely | poetry
PoetrySometimes my voice dies in my throat, buries itself beneath waves of crippling suffocation, burns itself out as cold hands tear at my laced skin. I have smiled while my eyes have cried and pleaded, my wrists numb, my lips wobbling and blue, and star...
