the kind of sad that doesn’t fit
anywhere. mine to keep. the world lets so many
ugly
things exist i’ll never learn to
talk,
words come only when i’m the solitary
witness
it’s not your fault, it’s nobody’s fault
our parents could have taught us but the ugly keeps them
quiet
who wants to speak of that?
you say you are
weak
and i think of all the times you were my
steadiness.
i hate these tears because they make you
ache
you are too good for the
ugly.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 2:33 PM UTC
the kind of sad that doesn’t fit
anywhere. mine to keep. the world lets so many
ugly
things exist i’ll never learn to
talk,
words come only when i’m the solitary
witness
it’s not your fault, it’s nobody’s fault
our parents could have taught us but the ugly keeps them
quiet
who wants to speak of that?
you say you are
weak
and i think of all the times you were my
steadiness.
i hate these tears because they make you
ache
you are too good for the
ugly.
Request permission to use this poem