5 senses.
When my throat is raw
and my eyes are red
from words both unspoken and said
I hear,
The pitter patter of the rain
replicating my pain
and I'm beholden for the roof over my head.
When I hyperventilate
and I'm sure my lungs have died
from the breathe I hold inside
I smell,
petrichor fills my nose
I hate that smell, God knows
but I am thankful I am breathing nonetheless.
When my eyes are closed shut
and the tears paint my face
the record in my head still stuck on replay
I see,
The clouds, the sky, the trees
the pictures on my wall of memories
I am grateful that I can see at all.
And when I'm holding my sides
and curl into a ball
hoping someone, somewhere will catch my fall
I touch,
Feel the beat of my heart
thumping against my scars
much obliged I can reach for the stars.
But when the sun breaks through the clouds
and I shield my face
to protect my dreams, my hope, and my faith
I taste,
Water splashing on my face
the homecooked meal on my plate
and i'm content with my senses
despite my psychological state.
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.