The mirrors have forgotten who I am.
Why do you keep saying
that you know my heart?
You don't get to ask me why
I don't look at the clocks no more--
Not when you've picked out the cogs
and kicked in the dents.
Last winter you set fire to
all the words I wrote you.
I was never your thoughts.
I have shed your touch
and begun to live
with the things
that are colder than me.
YOU ARE READING
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...
