How sorrow flows,
as it gently nudges
at the edge of my elbow
again and again.
Until I turn around and
surrender.
How sorrow grows,
from a little moment of
discomfort,
shame or death of a feeling,
which was once dear...
Into a monster
who cannot differentiate
love from hate.
Sorrow flows,
like the monthly massacre
of a woman's
body, week and dreams,
gestating
from a tiny cell.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 12:57 AM UTC
How sorrow flows,
as it gently nudges
at the edge of my elbow
again and again.
Until I turn around and
surrender.
How sorrow grows,
from a little moment of
discomfort,
shame or death of a feeling,
which was once dear...
Into a monster
who cannot differentiate
love from hate.
Sorrow flows,
like the monthly massacre
of a woman's
body, week and dreams,
gestating
from a tiny cell.
