i look back at what was
and, shaking my head, laugh.
i'd been so worried that i'd hurt you
that i'd failed to realize that i was the broken one,
trying to fix what i perceived to be your scars
with my own bleeding hands.
YOU ARE READING
Muddled
PoetryA collection of (ish) poetry for 2019. I guess this is the physical display of my muddled thoughts thorughout the year. I hope they make sense to someone one day. Enjoy, I guess.
