i have never plucked chords in the name of joyous conversation, there has always been a duplicitous undertone to my atonic sound. listen closely to my words which are ugly and rusted and ridden with disease. words which are lodged in my throat and stealing my ease. caught in between my need to please and too large to bring forth out of fear it'll crease. i'm sorry if you feel used. i'm sorry if i tease, but sometimes i need a second set of hands in my pursuit of my relief.
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honey, i'm healing | poetry and prose
Poetry"so, tear and be torn my darling, let the sun see your bones. i promise when you are done you will be anew and beautiful and loved." From the author of "The Diary of Hungry Girls" comes this seven part prelude. Honey, I'm Healing is Haig Moses's col...
