she held his face in the hard dirt;
the sun above couldn't save their souls or their bodies from this.
she heard his words;
they came from her mouth every morning,
matched the red crescents in her palms and
fit her like a golden crown on a ruthless monarch.
"i hurt what hurt me,"
she whispered, her voice
like the edge of razors that cut too deep,
when they asked her why.
in her eyes, the world burned
and her knuckles, though white as ghosts,
were the flames that made the ashes.
the boy cries, still -
pleading sorry for his wrongs
but they were forced out,
dripping with panic and
adrenaline.
"liar," she quips.
the thunder snaps at the ground not far from them.
not from you,
can the words
that pierce me
ever be said.
YOU ARE READING
the Angry Girl
Poetrysome things are better off unsaid but they were tossed in my head so i decided to scream. Original content. Lowercase intended throughout the book. Previously titled "Tossed Thoughts". Highest Rank: 4 in Poem, Poetry
