I do not hate the idea of things, I hate the way they are expressed
I hate the action of being held or holding hands, but not the thought
I'm sure that's why in terms of outstretched arms I never get a lot
It's marinated barriers and deceptive walls that I detest
These spiced carrier cars that we are standing in unknowingly
I want to eat, I always have, so as my mouth waters and foams
I stick out my barbed tongue and taste and taste and nothing tastes like home
Everything is overcooked, textures are wrong, and it's too bitter
I know that it's my fault, having taste buds that stay blackened inside
But how can I correct them if no matter what I break, they want to die?
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
PoetryThis is a select few of the poems I've written over the past two years or so. They're not the best and the rhythms are all messed up. But you know idc about that anymore so Enjoy my endless train of thoughts.
