On the edge
without a cushion and only
surviving on manipulation.
Not much will get me by,
not even the love from a guy;
what kind of future will we have
if it best be the last time
during the one time
that this life oughta compile?
I hadn't felt much in awhile
if it were to ever happen,
but there ain't a full smile;
I'm stuck in the environment,
this fucking cement!
So closed-off from the rest,
I can't even share a breath.
It's all weighing over me,
not much to caress me
or guide me.
Electrocution is a village,
the only one.
What's it like not to be chilled? And
Even where I sleep
is nothing more but broken concrete;
I got grooves in my skull from such trauma
that I can't escape;
familial, emotional rape;
that's what it might as well be dubbed;
A little word is made into a fuss,
but materialism ain't fucking kindness,
for plastic and food can be cold,
unlike a warm embrace.
YOU ARE READING
indoors.
PoetryWhat's a college junior to do when her young adulthood has been robbed of a rainbow of events, support, more than one tight bond, and life lessons? The birth of this collection of poetry.
