on poetry
poetry is when you make perfect sense
and it's completely incomprehensible
or
is it the other way around?
[original post]
and it's completely incomprehensible
or
is it the other way around?
[original post]
role models
for fourteen years i wished my father dead at the age of eighteen i buried him it would take another six years to be rid of his physical body it's been a decade since he died, but he still sneaks his whispers through my throat whenever you and i fight grips my vocal cords and squeezes tight strangling tones i wonder sometimes if he thinks that he's defending me or if this is his revenge exposing himself to *my* loved ones sliding his arrogance and his violence beneath words that i'd intended to use soothingly the horror that i feel when i hear myself overridden and see my own responses reflected in yours is the stomp of his feet on my steps the thump-thump-thumping that says a beating's coming it's in the tightening in my chest when you put me in my place when you hold up a mirror for me to see his angry, desperate, lonely face but i'll never be like him i'll never burn myself to set fire to others never revel in the type of winning t...
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