where was I buried, again?
maybe there?
the lone, drying tree,
which i used to encircle,
with my naivety.
you see, it gave me
a sense of safety.
it murmured to me,
"when you demons choke you,
when they want to be set free,
bring them here,
right under me.
what happens here,
stays indistinct and unclear"
I hated the people,
who made me a laughing stock
because the dark patterns,
that dug in the strength of the tree
resembled the desires, the thoughts in me.
'IT'S NOT SOME FASCINATING TALE OF SCARS
BUT SIMPLE BIOLOGY'
Yet when I looked up,
it nodded otherwise to me.
'you can't get your thoughts straight'
'what is wrong with you?'
maybe the fact that my soul was dying
with the remaining drops of dew.
so when my boyfriend
pushed me against the tree,
my purity 'disgusted him',
he spit
I shuddered and let the wind
caress my skin.
there, beside the mushy ground
where the petrichor burns every sound,
was I buried?
i really wish to go and check,
but every time I near the tree,
I see my soulless body,
leaning dead against the twigs.
YOU ARE READING
Poetrified - a collection of poetry
Poetrya collection of carefully curated and revised poetry by an amateur writer.
