here lie all the sentences cut short by my indecisiveness
all the periods stapled on after words that weren't meant
to be the finish
i run my hands through frostbitten soil
and scrape my palms on headstones
where the bloodiest poems of mine are buried–
funny how each one is engraved with your name
and i will not apologize for writing about you
just like you will never apologize for making me
not because you aren't sorry
but because you don't realize that it's your fault
i didn't ask to be a poet
although it is my fault that i've let it ruin my life
i wish i could stifle the urge to bleed onto pages
i wish i didn't have to bury every sweet song
you had ever whispered in my ear
is this a love poem or an apology letter?
i can't tell the difference between them anymore–
mostly because i love you, but i'm sorry for it.
YOU ARE READING
how the words come
Poetry"this is the poetry that has come from finally realizing it is okay to be okay but also not okay at the same time." ~ 'how the words come' tells the story of overcoming the aftermath of an emotionally abusive relationship. the book is separated into...
