The fracture in her eyes,
leaked with a strength
of an illegitimate ancestry,
covered up with golden mud
her iris told a story,
mothers, prophesying answers
I was desperately finding
his fists werent calloused
but his brows were due to frowning
his chest puffed, probably fighting
to keep at bay the horrors, father,
I was yet about to meet in life,
a mystery it is as for how
they got the courage to smile
I swallowed the uncertainty
because now I knew,
just as they are still doing and taught me; I
have never been so ready to fight.
-She gripped the cracked frame as a pair of happy voices from downstairs fills her ears.
YOU ARE READING
THE GIRL WHO SPOKE POETRY
PoetryThe thing about pain is, it makes you question.. what makes you human? ____________ **Not cliche, I repeat, Not cliche, WARNING, not cliche**
