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Nikita Tshawe
Poems
Aug 2022
My pillow,
My pillow.
It's wet with grief and sorrow.
Tears from the night before.
Eyes swollen and sore.
My pillow knows no drought.
Cry myself to sleep without a doubt.
My pillow knows no happy tears,
Only weeping prayers.
My pillow has absorbed an entire ocean.
Every last emotion,
Flows from my heart to my pillow.
No one will ever know, except my pillow.
Written by
Nikita Tshawe
29/F/Sandton
(29/F/Sandton)
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