The restrictions upon my self
worth, never the right, write,
wording, metaphor
of what I wish to show you, u, me.
That even though I don't cry or
scream, I'm swaying
every sentence I write, right to
the point that there was never
a chair to hold words.
Instead, I bleed my word, pain
with every stanza that collected
beneath holding me up.
Until I wrote so much that there
wasn't just air beneath me but solid
meaning wanting to
hold me higher than that which
may make me fall...
