I lay there until it was done with me done peeling my skin. Rinsing me in venom scars me, forces me. Says I am beautiful, tears running down my face, blood emerging from my skin shivering I just want my Mom and Dad.
My mind takes me to a place of snowfall pure yet cold melted I would baptize them all in it I fight, with a hazy mind as if i am a kite I hope someone sees me
This is me dirty. This is me in my dirty shoes. Missing my father. This is me in my white dress. Missing my mother. This is me wearing my new skin. This is me. This is me trying to clean my skin of the blood, of the glass. This is me. I am trying so hard to get out.
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...
