Small Talk

by nourayasmine   Nov 3, 2019


It isn't going very well.
I'm not myself.
I'm something else,

trillions of living cells,
splitting and moving in
chaos and noise, feeding
on bitterness, desperate
for help,
mute,
fragile,
unmatched.

I wake up at night, unhinged, collecting
bullet fragments off my hair.

My body is years of anarchy
covered in layers of skin.

11


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Latest Comments

  • 4 weeks ago

    by Tanya Southey

    Oh my. This...

  • 1 month ago

    by Poet on the Piano

    Those last two lines: heart-shattering. I associated the title with resorting to small talk, barely able to keep even it up, because your body is tired. You're fighting for yourself again - and there's such an intense battle with the self, chaos inside and outside that wears you down.

    Powerful write as always <3

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