you are 15
you call yourself a romantic
while you chase heartache
like a moth addicted to the flame
you breathe out sickness
while boys in men's bodies
shove their fists down your throat
and seize your heart
like your body is an open treasury
(you never prepare yourself for the heist)
you are 18
you think all men are predators
but you call yourself a prey anyway
you are an addict and you love it
so much
sometimes your hand around your neck
feels like theirs
you have nothing left for anyone
but you have no one left anyway
(Remember when we believed in soul mates?
We pressed our cotton hearts
into each others palms
tentatively
as if cotton breaks
-it doesn't
But cotton stiffens
the way your body did
when I wrapped my arms around you
It stiffens
the way our hearts did
when you left me
to chase a flame that was never there.)
-
Author:
xeina (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 21st, 2020 05:11
- Comment from author about the poem: On searching for a place called home. I haven't posted much, not for lack of content but for lack of time. I'll find the time t post soon, though!
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
Offline)
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