My body is a grave
of swallowed misery,
nesting in the flesh,
burning everyday.
Silence is my sober.
Numb is my cure.
Unshed tears is an art
I have come to master.
For too long now,
I have slept within this
rib cage.
My body waking up to
less ache, less break
but only with
more walls, more bricks
stacked up.
The higher the better.
—the walls
YOU ARE READING
Pen and Paper: Poetry & Prose (2020)
PoetryWords are bullets. Readers are targets. Come all, the loud and the silent! Dive into this merriment. Hi there! This is my collection of poetry & prose divided into three parts: When she hurts When she heals ...
