You know when you want to write about something that’s troubling you but putting it into words will make you feel powerless and vulnerable and a little ashamed so you just end up writing about something totally different.
aaah, i’ll get there.


you’d think the insides of your
well-lit heart would be the toughest
boundaries you will ever create,
and that a heart that appears so good
probably deserves a place,
and her hands, which so pathetically
reach out to you, putting you on
a pedestal you’re not meant for,
are only longing for something deserved,
and for that you will open a little window.
sneaking her in, your persistence is
being put to test for one more time
the blowing of the crisp wind
rings the wind chimes of warning
that you let pass for the goosebumps
you can now feel on your skin,
knowing that by ignoring the bruises
you have only yourself sinned.


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