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ryan-gonzalezPoems
When I see silent weeping I see the young boy standing on his bed staring three stories down a sea of masks below nails in the eye of each I see the young boy's eyes filled with red minefields countless hours worked countless hours abused treated like an old computer When I feel emotions fly eyes like a vinyl record I see the girl and boy her words flying outward a scourge of hornets stinging the boy everywhere I see the girl and her jar with sorrows of others used for baiting with lies the tears inside for herself to imitate crying and invoke pity I too have a jar of tears a jar of my own tears from nights spent alone living through abuse again making the memory smaller like it was a lanced boil My tears become medicine mixed hope and obstinacy given freely from me to provide comfort For those once alone
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Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 11:55 PM UTC
Wounded Healer
When I see silent weeping I see the young boy standing on his bed staring three stories down a sea of masks below nails in the eye of each I see the young boy's eyes filled with red minefields countless hours worked countless hours abused treated like an old computer When I feel emotions fly eyes like a vinyl record I see the girl and boy her words flying outward a scourge of hornets stinging the boy everywhere I see the girl and her jar with sorrows of others used for baiting with lies the tears inside for herself to imitate crying and invoke pity I too have a jar of tears a jar of my own tears from nights spent alone living through abuse again making the memory smaller like it was a lanced boil My tears become medicine mixed hope and obstinacy given freely from me to provide comfort For those once alone
ryan-gonzalez
Written by
ryan-gonzalez
Milwaukee
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 11:55 PM UTC
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