i can swallow now
the mass in my throat
has passed
but the indention
remains
accustomed to the soreness
i don't know
how to be
without the pain
you left me
with
you tell me
not to let the grief
get in the way of my writing
as if your few words
of niceties
would taste sweet in my mouth
after years of bitterness
poisoned my tongue
they bring to my table
NOTHING
fruitful
i was too good to you
and you know it
i was too good for you
and you knew it
i was a doe to your aim
and you confidently
shot
for the game
the trophy
to adorn
your bare walls
saturated
with dingy lighting
you realize
i am a game
you could never win.
YOU ARE READING
WALLFLOWERS BURN WILD
PoetryTODAY WE SHED OUR EMOTIONS ONTO THESE PAGES LIKE OLD SKIN AND GROW INTO ANEW ONCE TINY CATERPILLARS NOW GORGEOUS BUTTERFLIES COCOONED NO LONGER WE BROKE FREE NOTHING TO HOLD US BACK NOW + THESE ARE THE STORIES OF OUR REVOLUTION.
