Some nights, my body was just too tired saying the same heartbreak again and again knowing I was never shatter-proof.
Some days, I shoved your memory in the outskirts of my head, breaking them one at a time.
Some nights, I found myself putting it back together.
Some days, I found myself stitching back every tattered skin and every torn skin.
Some nights, I wanted your ghost to leave me alone.
But most of my sad days, I waited for them to visit me once more.
YOU ARE READING
POETRY THAT STAYS
شِعرYou don't really love someone, not until they become the person behind of your poetries. When poetry speaks, it echoes through your soul, lingers in your heart, and dances in your dreams. And... it stays. I wrote poems enough for people to ask, "w...
