It's been a hard week. So Mom told me to write poetry. She said, "Go write some good poetry. Or even bad." I think I wrote bad, but they are still my words and feelings. Let me open myself up to your for a moment. I am sure we will laugh over this pain in years to come.
I Bled
I wrote until my fingers bled
I ran until my feet bled
I kneeled until my knees bled
I cried until my eyes bled
I begged until my lips bled
I bled until there was no more
Until I was a hollow shell
Waiting for you to come
And fix my broken heart
Title Yet to Be Determined
Dizzy and weak
Feeling nothing but bleak
My soul is vulnerable
My heart inconsolable
My mind is a mess
My body in distress
There is a deep hole
in the corner of my soul
Needing to be filled
Needing to be healed
But nothing makes sense
and nothing can recompense
This ache that stays
This love that grays.
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