Newborn Diagnostics
Home is where the heart breaks,
stinking like wine and sorry for yourself.
Youth is a lack of grace,
tiny cripple-body growing into
fists and fits of sleepless nights.
Your eyes remained the same
they just dulled
with each mountain winter.
👁 1💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
If you or someone you know is struggling, you are not alone.
988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline — call or text 988, 24/7. Crisis Text Line — text HELLO to 741741.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
Comments are closed for this poem.