Everything is uncomfortable.
My clothes stick to my body like
Little children grasping their mother at the grocery store.
And the itching.
My arms,
My thighs,
My sides.
But I clench my hands closed
Because I know if I scratch,
Red will seep through.
P.S. I don't have any cats.
YOU ARE READING
My Voice Through Poetry
PoetryDepressed + gay = poetry 🤯 ⚠️ TRIGGER WARNING: including (but not limited to) self-harm, abuse, mental hospitals, eating disorders, and suicide.
