Air at First Composition

Wed, 06/15/2016 - 03:47 -- bhatefi

June 15th, 2016 12:36 AM

 

Pen to paper.

Here she is trying to tame a burning temper,

she is a frequent visitor, she knows this.

She told herself to stop, stay focused.

 

Little Brown Book.

Her bloodline running through its nooks,

thoughts corrupting her mind... crook.

Numerous words deciphering her sentimentality, 

sometimes expressing her doomed reality.

 

Pen to paper.

The windows are sealed, air restricted to her.

Words begin to flourish, a miracle occurs.

The windows are shattered,

she is no longer tattered.

Birth of her first breath.

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741