deepundergroundpoetry.com
Black Balloon
grief is a part of me
has been a mantra
since my womb died
sometimes his ring finger
cannot hear the fists I pound
into breeze block walls
I’m numb from the waist down
yet some nights it feels
like everywhere
like the hair I pull out in strands
once under control
that I can’t seem to stop
or walking the supermarket aisles
dreaming of vodka smiles
in wide eyed relief
sometimes I feel as if
I am more apology
than girl
as if disgust is something
I have to pardon, when
the uncomfortable one is me
I crawl into bed exhausted
mapping a desperate outline
in the mirage of the sea
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