Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 2022
713
i am
not real
im the icky feelings
that float in your brain
im a stuffed person, a memory of pain
black and green
dirt and bugs, everything unclean
a stone in the grass
a bone by the tracks
made from sky and trees
the kind of love that weakens knees
im everything there is to see
everything and everyone
except me
nevaeh
Written by
nevaeh  20/F/home
(20/F/home)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems