Drained culture

This culture is sand, rubbing us raw.

Amputating the imperfect pieces;

Dislocation from ourselves.

Jumping at the first signs of puberty,

Pulling us in slowly and securely.

Suddenly we’re not anything but used coffee grains.

Strained and soaking.

We stand- eroded souls from constant sand,

Amputated of our imperfections,

Strained of our personalities.

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

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