With you,
I feel like my brokeness wears a disguised mask,
it doesn’t protrude out like splinters and spears
right through my rib cage where
thorn ladden tendrils grow, with everyone else.
With you,
I feel less broken.
Maybe even whole again.
Like I used to be.
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 12:45 AM UTC
With you,
I feel like my brokeness wears a disguised mask,
it doesn’t protrude out like splinters and spears
right through my rib cage where
thorn ladden tendrils grow, with everyone else.
With you,
I feel less broken.
Maybe even whole again.
Like I used to be.
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