I was a child of acts and blood,
you'd see me covered in wounds that I had to take care of on my own. That's how I learned to take care of others, — cruel, a bit harsh, but still warmer than my mother's arms.

YOU ARE READING
existence within earth
PoetryPoetry in words of a mess, written throughout years of my teenage angst that continues. "Shall wisdom and hell be spoken when my ink turns into blood"
s e v e n t e e n
I was a child of acts and blood,
you'd see me covered in wounds that I had to take care of on my own. That's how I learned to take care of others, — cruel, a bit harsh, but still warmer than my mother's arms.