Orange paint on the palm of my left hand
Looks like a sigh
A shrug licks up my memory
And as my metaphorical shoulders slump
The earth rolls in two waves
Mountains cave into their waterfalls and my ribs become shells of what once was
I hold me together
Hold me together
With poor paintings and mint toothpaste
YOU ARE READING
In Which
PoetryA collection of poems about my experiences battling bipolar disorder, OCD, and addiction.
