PoemsBrowse PoemsSlamsFresh DropEchoes
LearnWriting TipsPoetry TermsPoets & ArtistsBooksFor Teachers
ExplorePoetry GenomePoem MapEchoesTake ActionGroups
AboutWrite a PoemDonateSign UpLog In

Red white and blue


I keep them in my little box of altoids. 
on the second shelf in a wooden decoration I made last time I was stuck

people broke my soul so I chose to cut the parts they didn't like 

The pain was my muse. And the red only increased the blue in the pit of my stomach

So I got to a point where only one was enough. One for everytime.

It sucks cuz I know there'll always be more room

 

©All Rights Reserved

Something wrong with this poem?

Share

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.