Hate becomes something physical,
clenched in tight fists
and between grinding teeth,
twitching barely beneath
the skin while heating
arteries and veins.
An object to throw or spit
like poison, almost too hot to hold
and definitely hot enough to hurt.
I had a bad day.
Not today; actually, last Saturday. But anyways.
I like writing poetry. Not all of it is going to be a historical epic or an ode to something. These are like little glimpses of the subway in my mind; my train of thought isn't always artsy or symbolic or deep or meaningful, but I like to think that art takes ordinary things and makes people see a sort of beauty in them. So, look around- I've been doing this for a while. Enjoy ♥
No comments:
Post a Comment