Ripped apart you were
Bathing in your own blood
Accepting a fate not yours
Of misery and loneliness
Loss and self-hate
I picked your weary heart up
Crying with anger
At those who thought
They could treat you
Like you're nothing
I weaved the strongest string
Through the sore fissures
Pulling your heart into one
Bandaging it in my arms
And you fought me
Because you thought
You deserved the pain
Months you tugged new wounds
But I never gave up
And when you realized
I was Still holding you
You met my eyes
And you saw love
Real love
Meant for you
🥀🖤🌹
YOU ARE READING
My Poetry Is Not Like Yours
PoetryI just let myself start writing, opening a pathway for my emotions to spill out in words. It's a kind of therapy, you could say.
