Maybe I am the rose that grew from concrete
or maybe I am the crevice where the beauty grows
the same thing that allows beauty to show
that skids across the page
the same thing that you need to cover and correct
because the stuff that comes out of the schoolhouse is fragile as a withered tree
I’ve become the doorbell
an annoying tone that leaves a soreness in your ears whenever rung
everything feels like a lost opportunity
and remember the rose?
that pain that continues to grow?
I am one that curls across the wall, unknowing of when to let go
as the sun comes out become as pale as weeds
the more attention bring, the less care for giving
I haven’t slept well lately
the water in the kitchen sink flows like the torment thought off my lips
I have no discrepancy when I’m supposed to
I do when I’m not
the suffering I endure is the same I try to avoid
and the same thing I always feared
was the same thing I becomeTags: 10poems
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