I often ponder why devastation is easier for me to write about than happiness; when I've had two parents and a brother who I'm certain that loves me. When I've had a house, an education, and food, and all the rest that most don't have. So why is it, that I cannot summon the brightness when I want to speak of it? There is this unbearable weight on my heart that never falters, and so I falter. I lift my head, banging it against my own rib cage. I've been confined into my own being for so long, that I forgot about the light that never gets in.
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A Change Of Heart
PoetryHealing isn't the easiest thing for me to do. I've tried to find it in between pages and rib cages. In loud rooms and the quiet of racing heartbeats. In poetry and rage. In that space between childhood and growing pains. In apologies that I refuse t...
