I’m tired of having ammo for my poetry Tired of melting down flesh laden bullets to make beautiful words My wounds are my ink I use them for writing But I wouldn’t be heartbroken if suddenly I was too whole to write about broken things
i want you to know i namaste i see you you have two beautiful hips you’ve let mostly men thrust themselves into but it’s women who leave soul marks you can still feel when you touch them just right your orgasm is not gender specific on the right day you come from almost anybody inside … More i namaste
I know what it’s like to feel like you’re nothing It wasn’t so much done with intent But a byproduct of a sacrosanct promise broken before them One that said love shall never equal harm. My parents molded me with two broken hands strengthened by the layer of thick that develops when the people you … More Bones, Brokens, and Reasons
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