A part of us clings on to old habits,
Onto those who hurt us but
Fill us up with temporary glee.
Those who shatter your ambitions with
A baseball bat or a croquet mallet.
A part craves a new life,
For those who hold your ceramic heart
And embrace your shaking hands as
Lay frozen in the bathtub, repeating that
Same lie you've been brought up to believe.
Your heart torn between good and bad,
Those who'll watch you perish in blood, fire and anguish.
Those who'll cradle you at your lowest points.
No matter what you do,
Don't fall for your bad habits again.
YOU ARE READING
Hiraeth
Poesía(n). A blend of homesickness, nostalgia and deep longing for something, especially one's home in Wales; an ode to the loss of our homeland, our language and our traditions. •I update this quite infrequently :(•
