your parents
have wounds
they kept hidden
while pushing you
on the swing
now you’re seventeen
squeezing your eyes
shut and daydreaming
about all the ways
you will be better
you can create an ocean
between
once you’ve collected
enough freedom
to dig the pit
(it is reminiscent
of the one in your stomach)
the bridges
are yours to build
you don’t have to be
an island
but you don’t have to be
a punching bag
their wounds are
not an excuse
they do not get
to point to theirs
while brandishing
***** fingernails to
draw blood
but while their teeth
are sharp and their
eyes are dark
their broken skin shows
there’s still a beating
heart
in there
somewhere
maybe when i’m older
i’ll be brave enough
to reach out
and try
to feel it beat
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 10:31 AM UTC
your parents
have wounds
they kept hidden
while pushing you
on the swing
now you’re seventeen
squeezing your eyes
shut and daydreaming
about all the ways
you will be better
you can create an ocean
between
once you’ve collected
enough freedom
to dig the pit
(it is reminiscent
of the one in your stomach)
the bridges
are yours to build
you don’t have to be
an island
but you don’t have to be
a punching bag
their wounds are
not an excuse
they do not get
to point to theirs
while brandishing
***** fingernails to
draw blood
but while their teeth
are sharp and their
eyes are dark
their broken skin shows
there’s still a beating
heart
in there
somewhere
maybe when i’m older
i’ll be brave enough
to reach out
and try
to feel it beat
feel free to help me come up with a title for this
Request permission to use this poem