oh darling,
tell me,
how do you cry?
do you bight your lip and try to fight the pain?
or do you pull your hair and
hide the sobs with your pillow?
tell me,
do you notice the world around you?
can you hear your tears hit the floor?
or maybe, you taste them on your lips?
tell me,
do others notice your pain?
does anyone look at you and wonder
what is staining your wrists?
has anyone ever asked you why you hate yourself?
but i think i know the answer.
i think they keep walking because
why would anyone try to fix something
that is beyond repair?
-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.