14/30


Sometimes,

people and things break us beyond repair
And we write pretty lines about it

and call it poetry.

But it was never this pretty,

It was never this beautiful.

These words falling off pages gracefully

cost blood and tears.

They cost the bags under your eyes

you unwillingly carried around

They cost an urge to be invisible for just a moment

They cost sleepless nights and restless days

They cost wandering minds and hours drenched in sadness

And questioning all that you ever believed in.

Sometimes,

People and things break us beyond repair

We write pretty lines about,

call it poetry

and pretend we are fine.

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