She knees were weak,
She felt as though she would drop.
They called her a freak,
And they never stopped.
Her legs were covered in scars,
No longer did the sound of the guitar,
Stop her from dragging the blade over her skin.
They say it's a sin,
But then they burn her down.
She feels like drowning.
The words they say,
Create a bay,
Where the water crashes.
Those gashes,
She makes,
Are not her fault.
YOU ARE READING
Float
PoetryThis is my first attempt to write poetry. I'm sorry it's bad. I'm working on it.
