Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Feb 2015
I am an old friend of bruised knees and bathroom floors,
exhaling until the chest is empty and body no longer breathing;
only absence lives here now. Cold stone tiles,
so we meet again: spilling secrets into each other’s mouths
until we see the light of dawn, we whisper
with a hope of being heard, yet fear of being listened to.
For weeks I have been swallowing metaphors like honey,
gulping down apologies for breakfast,
biting my tongue until the taste of forgiveness fills me –
for once my throat is not made of molasses.
There is a reason why our hearts began to curl like fists
and we aimed them at ourselves, because after all,
self-love has always been the most important thing.
Nina JC
Written by
Nina JC  20/F/Bournemouth
(20/F/Bournemouth)   
  1.3k
   Axle Avatari, ---, atlas, ---, Poetess and 6 others
Please log in to view and add comments on poems