blood
red until it dries
the length of my arm
the slight of my wrist
its warmth
seeping
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Author:
Kinsey Peterson (
Offline) - Published: December 6th, 2022 14:25
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 26
- User favorite of this poem: A Boy With Roses.
blood
red until it dries
the length of my arm
the slight of my wrist
its warmth
seeping
Offline)
Comments4
show your strength you are strong
stay alive and find that person who will fix you
i am anything but in need of being fixed. losing the parts of me that i have damaged would mean that i lose the parts of me that have turned me into who I am. It's because people have hurt me and I am traumatized that I can find solace in words. if i could be fixed, i wouldn't want to be. My advice for you- don't find someone to fix you. You aren't a broken bottle in need of being glued and turned back into the same object of affection as you were before. evolve. find yourself someone who collects sea glass on the beach as proudly wears it as jewellery. find someone who sees the damage and loves you because of who it made you.
well put : )
Good write, Joan.
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