What is never spoken of, pushed down,
becomes mold crawling over hearts.
Strangling our voices, it scuttles through
corridors, tunneling, warping each day.
My body, this swollen thing carried by
legs too thin and crippled to uphold it.
Pushed down, tightly clamped in now,
full of pain, gasping for each breath.
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1 comment:
I like this poem! I would have liked it a bit expanded I think.
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