they don't respect me.
every day
i am tossed around
like a toy,
not sentient,
not feeling.
but i feel it all,
and every day
my heart breaks anew,
opening old scars.
i try to hide
but it never works.
when i was young
someone said,
sticks and stones
may break my bones
but words
will never hurt me.
but words do hurt.
they hurt the most.
they hurt me.
they hurt my friends.
whoever came up with
"sticks and stones"
should try
getting hit
by a dictionary.
YOU ARE READING
rain
Poetrypoems from dreams and nightmares flow from pen to page incredible rainbows of words painting pictures in my head they can make or break a story swirls of light and dark like fresh sweet air or suffocating fog how is it that pain can be so poetic?
