Flesh and bone
How much you've grown.
Stretching each ligament
Searching for fulfilment.
But there's something
To be said regarding,
Growing in confinement
Ordered by a tyrant.
No space to move.
So much to prove.
So once the box is undone
You think you've won.
Yet here you are.
Not moved very far.
Can't grow an inch.
All you can do is flinch.
YOU ARE READING
Lachrymose
PoetryLachrymose /ˈlakrɪməʊs,ˈlakrɪməʊz/ adjective tearful or given to weeping. A collection of amateur prose and poetry illustrating the inner turmoil. Mainly a dumping ground for loose thoughts and ideas to be interpreted in whatever manner.
