i'll shake with anger,
yet nothing will come
out. my brain is boiling
with words unspoken,
my fists are clenching,
my nails digging into
my skin. i'd like to tell
you to go fuck yourselves,
but that would be rude,
wouldn't it?
we are told to speak
what is on our mind,
but when we do all we
get is yelled at. <<watch
your language>> they say.
but what if simple words
isn't enough to describe
the mess in my head?
what if messy words
are where the true feelings
lay?
YOU ARE READING
deadroses || poetry
Poetry"we had a vision though, now we dead roses" now, why did she send them? these broken down, wilted, beat up, rotten-looking flowers.
