Silly gosling with your feathery down,
Dont go in the water or you'll start to drown.
Molting your feathers, you start to pluck,
Wishing you were a bright, cheerful duck.
But you're not a duck for your neck is too long,
Your feathers too dark with a darker song.
Fall into bleach, dying your feathers blonde,
Wishing you were a pure, graceful swan.
But you've plucked your skin, red, raging, and raised,
No more sleek feathers, your vision hazed.
With the tears in your eyes telling the story,
Of losing yourself before you start to feel lovely.
YOU ARE READING
A Random Collection of Poems
PoetryIn this collection of poetry, you'll find poetry about love, mental health, and existential questions. Who would be the last person you'd speak to? If you had a choice, would you rather drown or burn? How do people with mental struggles cope unheal...
