hair in a bun she smiles, greeting you hiding the disappointment. yet, humble softly she speaks. "you did it again didn't you? You went back to his place again" guilty my legs tremble, "yes." All the progress we made, about moving on, telling me I deserve better, all to the ground. She's not trying to hurt me, or inconvenience me, but just as everyone she sees he's no good for me. and there I go bending backward my words of hate and letting myself get broken again. having myself as an easy prey he feeds on more and more. a rag doll he can pick up and leave on the floor. letting myself his tool to play with.
- progress
YOU ARE READING
surviving the storm
PoetryA collection of poems meant to soothe and release the pain from the rainy days
