How am I supposed to grow,
If my roots keep getting damaged?
These people dig around me, with their sharp words like spades. I keep losing pieces of myself and I'm not sure if they'll grow back.
And my soil isn't being fertilised.
I haven't fed myself a kind word in weeks.
And I'm withering. I haven't had a drink in days. I've cried out all my pain and I'm too worn, too weak to nurture my soul with trivialities like sustenance.
I need the sun. And to see the sun, I know that I need to cut away these weeds.
It's the only way I can grow.
YOU ARE READING
Paper Heart Poetry
PoetryThey don't prepare you for these feelings when you're a kid. ●●● Pain in the shape of words because human emotion is a powerful source of inspiration. Revel in the contradictions. Swim in the salty depths of grief. Climb the mountains of sorrow. Re...
