Maybe if I stay in the shower long enough-
I can wash away the way his hands felt.
Maybe if I weep, I can cry away the impurities he settled into me.
Maybe if I told, things would have been different.
But your name, will always be a secret.
I wish it would hide from me too,
But instead it haunts, like a regretted tattoo.
YOU ARE READING
The Color of Blood: a poetry book
PoetryHello, this is some poetry and short stories about the many struggles I've faced with self harm, depression, abuse, anxiety, and all those lovely hatreds.
