deepundergroundpoetry.com

our voices don't belong to you

 


it's a language
that asks
when is it my turn?
a sound
piercing through
waiting rooms,
bitten down
nails chomping
at the bit
for the next
appointment,
nervous taps
of shoes
that can't stop
beating on
cold ground
waiting
for a new
bloom,
a victorious
fuck you
to everybody
who said
you won't
make it
but here
you
are

with
decorated
scars to
proudly
show
for it

and
you will
eventually
let go
of that kid
who stayed
for too
long,

carry
on.


ragaire
Written by ragaire
Published
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