as the body count
careered out of control those...
I'm reading your mind
Although I won't turn the page...
My father has always been an
Ebrious man, liked more than a...
september hovers over my bloated fingers before
pressing her petite lips on them and leaving...
Lost in the woods she lay,
Leaves scattered like her brain...
Who thought they could do this to me?
Who was there not stopping it...
The saddest tears are the driest ones seen in the bravest smile. |
Don't tell one who writes of grief to rethink their "I" statements. When you know they had tears on their hands as they wrote, don't say the poem could be better. You might as well say their grief could be worse. |
If someone shares a poem with you that is meant to help close an open wound, they don't want your opinion. They want your hand on their shoulder, gripping it tight. |