tw: ed
this time last year i rose early and went to sleep late,
succumbing to the dull drone of monotony.
i cried in the shower and wished that
my stomach would stop growling quite so loud in
a silent classroom where the morning sun peeked through the clouds
and shone light everywhere except for upon my frigid face.
i smiled and pretended and hated myself quietly
because i forgot how to make my tongue move,
forgot how to let the discordant notes of my voice
tumble from my mouth,
forgot how to let it past the walls i erected of my lips.
YOU ARE READING
Dregs
PoetryDregs: the most worthless part or parts of something. This is a collection of poetry I've written over the last few years as I try to figure out who I am, what I want, and how to get it without killing myself in the process. I'll put trigger warning...
