She was the high prize in a running contest,
I wished I could run, win what I thought would change me,
what would fullfil or free the cage in me — you know,
children are scared of monsters,
so was I,
scared to death from what was feeding in me with every fucking try to please her.
I was in a contest, of running — for my life perhaps.
The only flaw was that I had no limbs to carry the burden that built in my chest,
I was a hopeless cause, stuck in my own self.
Excluded from what was around me and included what was growing inside me.
YOU ARE READING
existence within earth
PoesiaPoetry 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"