Men like him have learned to unlearn what warmth is.
Men like him stay awake on cold nights, folding pain into pockets of fabric (like a token in a fortune cookie) and stitch them onto their favorite shirts.
Men like him let their skin scald under hot showers for they aren't done with crying yet.
Men like him spend hours of time chipping away that old paint off the walls, in the corners of their rooms, uttering 'I'm not worth it' into their safe space.
Men like him have never seen love running around in their homes (houses) like a merry child.
Men like him doubt if is there any problem they can ever solve by themselves.
Men like him are uncertain that they might not have enough chapters in their life to make it worthwhile.
Men like him stand in front of the mirror half naked and trace their scars to make constellations on their skin.
Men like him turn to blades, sometimes coffee or whiskey to release their loneliness.
Men like him refuse to have any company for they have had grief seated in their family portraits since the very beginning.
Men like him squint at the light seeping through their windows and feel powerless during summers.
Men like him lie about their favorite color being black/blue/yellow/red/white while it has always been grey.
Men like him have been silently crying into their pillows, more and more with each passing night, praying for someone to take them to a place called home.
Despite of it all, men like him have been forging an armor underneath their skin with strength and tolerance that
you and I can't see, refuse to see.
YOU ARE READING
Sunflowers are grey
Poetry'Everyone hides behind their words. And that's exactly what I do.' "Sunflowers are grey" is my first-attempt-at-poetry collection. The poems potray a darker undertone on subjects like mental health, love, heartbreak, trauma, etc. P.S- Trigger warni...
