26 June 2019
"It could be worse,"
I say,
shrugging off the bruises
and the insults
like dust on my shoulders.
"It could be worse,"
you say,
shaking your head,
a frown taking over your face.
"You could be dead."
YOU ARE READING
scripturient
Poesíaa collection of my poems to friends and family and self; a way for me to get my feelings out past rankings: #68 in domesticabuse #38 in poet copyright 2021 @peaaachpit
