White dress just like snow
Cotton dress my mother made by pricking her finger
For me she bled
As the wheel spun
She gets soiled from days in the sun
This is my cotton white dress
Leather shoes made from cow Killed, skinned, dried, hide and stitched just to call it wearable I see blood on his hands.
Blood for sole, soul for sole just to call it wearable I see blood on his hands All this to call me pure, made from one substance Cotton leather dreamland
YOU ARE READING
Hold my Hand
PoetryMy goal is to share what I wish I knew about trauma and healing in order to make your journey less confusing. I have to begin by telling you that there are no magic words or wisdom to make the pain of trauma disappear. There is only you and your com...
