A landslide brought me down.
I did not chose who would pick me up.
Who were you before your parent's were born?
Who was I meant to be.
Weeeeeeeeeeeeee-- the thunder rolls over the desert.
The rain reaches tides along the coast.
Who am I without you?
Emerald leaves turn red as the blood count rises.
drip.
drop.
red.
ruby.
pomegranate seeds.
How can I extricate myself from you, when you are the ones who polished me with your stories.
Obsidian
fills
my
eyes
with illusion.
I cannot reshape what you have carved me to be.
I cannot fill the cracks
created
concrete
within.
Tools of love, redemption, betrayal, manipulation ...
manipulations
i
r
a
n
3 comments:
so true we try all the time to be something but happiness lies in being what we were created to be
An amazing poem. I've read it three times so far and keep finding more.
Hi Anonymous and Beth, thank you for your comments!
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