Obstacles come in many shapes;
Brusies on my pretty face made me...
so, here i am once more
alone...
another headline
tumbles across a mass grave...
I don't care I sound so cliche My demons on...
You ever have a craving?
One that’s not good...
I stumble down a darkened hallway,
My bloodied fingertips trailing the ghostly white...
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. |