The other day, as my tears weren't drying,
I wrote 'stop hating yourself'
in hope, on my left arm.
I carried it round with me the next day,
hidden under clothing and smiles
praying the words would sink in.
That black ink would slide under
Subcutaneous layers; deep within marrow
Sparkling kindle within.
A week later there was no trace to be found
of those words or that false hope.
Those permanent marker promises
which I can't say I broke,
because I never made them in the first place.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 6:35 AM UTC
The other day, as my tears weren't drying,
I wrote 'stop hating yourself'
in hope, on my left arm.
I carried it round with me the next day,
hidden under clothing and smiles
praying the words would sink in.
That black ink would slide under
Subcutaneous layers; deep within marrow
Sparkling kindle within.
A week later there was no trace to be found
of those words or that false hope.
Those permanent marker promises
which I can't say I broke,
because I never made them in the first place.
S.A.D
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