really, its an unforgiving statement,
definitive, but vast
simple, but complex
since when did people decide that my really-fucking-shit days and breakdowns were beautiful, simple heart-breaks
since when did they understand the feeling of breathing through broken lungs, having frogs stuck in throats that cannot leap, torn skin on fingers that keep shedding on dry days, bleeding and bleeding and bleeding
since when did they understand any of this?
they title my misery as an indie film to be sobbed about. i am not a love story to be picked up on dusty shelves during a rainy day, i am not scars that do not heal on wrists or crumbling bones to be ground into fine ash
i am sick.
i am not your broken pieces.
YOU ARE READING
Miscontrued Sentences
PoetryNo one can understand yourself better than you. But we can all relate to the feelings that are often miscontrued by media, language, and everything in between. This is my ode to poetry, to the sad, the lonely, to everyone, and to myself.
