Chitter and chatter, to bicker and bite.
Words fly and scatter like flies from the dead.
They twist in the wind, they land in my head.
Warriors, they battle an eternal fight.
They jump up my arms and step to the light.
Colors deep black to white, blue, green and red.
Whispered by wise men or yelled out instead.
I'm still unaware of what's wrong or right.
Some words are pretty, bright and appealing.
They sooth like cold water on a sharp burn.
Some are painful, an animal squealing.
Bitter to swallow and dreadful to learn.
If I were stronger I could fight this feeling.
The truth from the lies I rarely discern.
By: Daisy Red
YOU ARE READING
Becoming Pretty- PoetryPoetry
Sometimes my mind feels like a liquid, and it takes all of my strength so keep it from slipping down the drain. Sometimes it throbs like a a broken bone. Often, my poor brain pulls me in every direction like 1'000 marbles cascading down a flight of...