Stuffing rage into cracks
too small for healing
endless clawing at the bones
of what was taken
her body an abandoned property
that can't be scrubbed clean
and still she drags herself
to bury hope in shallow ground
pretending the stench
of violated prayers
isn't seeping through her skin
masking the stink
of betrayal with brittle smiles
biting down on sweetness
until it tastes like rust
trading dreams for colder, sharper lies
carving out pieces of herself
to fit inside a coffin
too small for what she was
just to fit into the lie
that this is strength
that this is living
--
One from the archives. I wrote this one just a few days before I almost jumped off a bridge. I can't believe that was only 4 years ago. It was a dark time, and I was a different person then - and maybe a better poet? Raw, unfiltered emotion here.
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