I mourn
thinking about all
the bones I break
before
so they could cradle me
in their arms,
so they could make a
home.
The truth is that
I was always more
theirs than they were mine.
And when I peel
my skin like an orange
I see nothing but
love rotting inside,
Like I am a fruit
that has gone bad
sweeter,
sweeter
grief with every
bite.
YOU ARE READING
Misery, from Grief Lessons
PoetryI didn't know I am misery, until now. And for today, I wake up on the wrong side of me.
