i lifted my sleeve
and showed you the fresh cuts
and lingering scars.
i took a sharp breath,
expecting youto run
from what you thought was your bestfriend.
but instead,
you kissed my scars
and cried with me.
-k.d.
YOU ARE READING
life as we know it
PoetryBeing a poet is like being really sick. But instead of vomit, words come out. This is my word vomit.