Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
May 2018
you are the aftermath of what happens when
we stop holding our breath, stop
boxing things up and start to let them breathe.
I am the aftermath of everything
I keep in my bed at night, but I'm learning that I can crush bones
as easily as being crushed.
I am the shards of sharp things we all
tiptoe around to avoid, I am
the softness that settles in your bones when you decide
to stop running away. Add up the cost of
sleepless nights and kissing pavements, toss the body counts
I think you've seen enough cold fingers
for this life.

Make your home in me, let the dust settle gently
over the contours of these walls;
it may be a little
bleak at times, but when you come home here you won't
have to leave any piece of you at the door, you won't have
to tread lightly or keep
your voice soft.  

I'm taking it all in with fresh bursts
of inspiration, drawing you like the only
way out, and I hope
as you're waking up and fitting
your hands around new promises,
you'll leave a blank space for me to write
my name into, I'll be marking
my skin with things we say
and do, I'll be cleaning
out my closet to put your skeletons into.
Written by
KM Hanslik  20/F/Ohio
Please log in to view and add comments on poems