Poetry
I wonder what it would feel like to be validated by them. Under the wing of my own mother hen. Ink spills over our desk, so I pick up the pen. Carefully chosen words fall on deaf ears. Oily feathers revealed to be spears. My ink bleeds over wasted years.
Poetry
You don't see the being inside of me. Surface level projection of your beliefs. A flesh Acheron inconveniently diseased. Nasty for the sin of being free. Unfit for you to live vicariously. I try instead to live for me. An attack you'd like to believe. But
Poetry
I want to write a poem for you But you don’t really let people in So I can only write for the father I’ve had Not the one you wish you had been Deep beneath the skin of a man little boy cries frozen in time For a
Poetry
Brown eyes brighter than the sun I saw the world through yours before I ever grew my own Strong hands forged in fire and stone You stood stalwart between my light and the unknown Sour words that stung in my youth Turned bitter after half a decade apart Lemonade sweetened