Tell me that I cannot.
Tell me that I was not made for such a time as this.
Lecture to me all that I am underdressed, underused, underfoot.
List again, please, all the ways that I will never rise, never fly, never crack the world in half with a pen and headphones and a bleeding heart.
Whisper again why I will not, should not, be not.
-- raise your voice to me, honey, and I'll scream back
YOU ARE READING
Dear M.
PoetryA broken heart. A fragmented soul. One pair of earbuds. One still, small voice through it all. Take my hand and come with me as my earbuds lead the way through the dark and through the light.
