"oatmeals" poems
Your voice,
It echoes through my head
like a broken recorder,
banging the insides with,
"change,
change,
change..."
I,
did not fit.
So,
I twisted my limbs and
squashed my head
to fit into your little mould.
Umpteenth effort;
days of churning and weeks of wringing.
I,
winced in pain and groaned in despair.
The crucifixion happened as,
I,
heard me snap.
Now it chews on my skin
and clings onto my flesh,
as if it was all tailor-made beforehand.
I stride towards you with assurance
that now,
I am perfect.
That now,
maybe you'll love me more.
But,
you looked at me
with a gaze so familiar
that it pierces my heart
into crumbs that resemble oatmeals and dust.
You said,
"you've changed".
Dec 24, 2018
Dec 24, 2018 at 12:58 PM UTC