Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 2020
Dear wounds that I carry,
I'm sorry, that,
I opened my palm to the thorns that pricked you,
And just like a dying soul, I watched to see if they'd look back,
And you know, like innocent birds,
With beautiful feathers, they disappeared into the skies.
Written by
Kirah  19/F/Kenya
Please log in to view and add comments on poems