A blockage of my esophagus is causing my
tear ducts to fill.
My throats burns,
and in slow,
powerful
bursts of heart power…
I heave mercilessly.
Rest assured,
I am so very far
from histrionics and hysterics.
I am close to anger,
but unrelated to hate.
I am a bright,
budding
flower of love,
whose water-proof casparian strip
filtrates
all nutrients of potential.
I am left in dire yearning
yet grieve for nothing
on the eve
of my rebirth.
1 comment:
love this poem of your the words are powerful the way it follow each other and it rhymes, and i wonder what inspired you in writing this one.
Post a Comment