a bag of bones
rattling
shaking up the dust and dirt
shaking out the little black skirt.
their hollow faces grin cheekily
it's a little unnerving
watching them eat greedily,
anything they can get.
i think we've realized -
it's very plain actually
- they were eaten up from the inside
they were begging to be free.
you judge them, don't you?
why let them be?
they made their choices,
they paid their fee.
He came for them,
He tried to make them see,
all this damage you've done to me.
He tried to explain
that it was their choice
and He is always there to comfort them
to nurture
but they don't listen
except for one
one watches from the background
one tries to pick the shattered skin up
it tries to piece itself together
instead of shaking the bones
instead of making them jump
it starts again,
skin stretching, making an ugly pattern over the skull
it planted a seed in itself
which grew into a bush
a bush grew inside
those ugly, dull bones
and the skin and leaves hide
all the fears
all the secrets
but it will always be
nothing more than
a bag of bones.
***
I don't really know how I feel about this one - it's either about girls giving themselves up for money or teenagers trying to find out who they really are because - if I'm being honest - I have no idea who I am and I'd like to think I'm more than just a bag of bones.
- nancy
YOU ARE READING
{2} never alone.
Poetry"...we're hopelessly complicated and beautifully entwined, maybe we're ignorantly emancipated and selfishly try to prove it wrong..." lowercase intended.
