Are we there yet.
To a place that was better than the last.
Somewhere that isn't here.
Am I alright yet.
At a point where I don't scream at myself for all the confusing thoughts I have.
Able to breathe easier and not writing poems when no one else is awake to listen.
Should I let it rise
Up from my lungs to my brain.
Allow it to peak and fall only to build up again.
YOU ARE READING
The Book of Healing
PoetryShe's not okay, but writing it down helps. - Part I: It's time to rip off the band-aid. Poems: slam, traditional, free-verse. The first twenty are not up to par with the others, but this is an ongoing journey so I feel the need to include them...
