I wasn’t subtle about falling apart. My friends saw the cuts. The red marks on my arms. The way I curled inward, making myself smaller than I was.
By Bea Button2 months ago in Poets
We'd been friends for years, but tonight it felt different. The night was cold, but his touch was burning, A kiss that hit me like a wave,
I sift through the past like a riverbed in slow current, hands moving through silt and stone, lifting what hasn’t been dragged downstream
Some roads aren’t on paper. They run along skin, raised and silvered, etched by survival, charted without consent. There’s a scar on my knee
She begins before the light settles, stepping onto the track to see what the night’s weather has left behind. Wind and rain can change a trail quickly,
