Birdsong
Going through
the circumstances
of everything,
fear is nothing
and useless.
I stand on my
feet, pronouncing
my confidence over
my head. I can't
be weak now.
Someday, all the
sorrows hovering
in the places where
we belong, will no
longer be there.
I tell myself.
I can't say more
than my imperfections.
I live to prove.
I live to sing.
👁 2💬 0
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.