My heartbeat races against my thoughts
There they are, on the tip of my tongue
Measuring myself to all my flaws
Knowing I could never be enough
Weak and frail, a piss poor excuse
Admitting what everyone knows
I could say it, but tell me, what’s the use
When the hate for myself only grows
So, what do I do with the silence that remains
Can I cover it all in the dirt
Holding onto the words that I didn’t say
And the thoughts that will never be heard
About the Creator
Kelli Sheckler-Amsden
Telling stories my heart needs to tell <3 life is a journey, not a competition
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More stories from Kelli Sheckler-Amsden and writers in Poets and other communities.
Killing him slowly
There’s an intruder in my house again. He stumbles through the door, wet carrier bags in hand. He’s bought me offerings. I show my appreciation, letting him caress my beautiful body. He wants to touch me. I rub myself against his legs. He sighs, dropping the bags. He can’t resist touching me. Running his hand slowly down my spine, I arch my back towards his caress, let out a low purr. It’s what we both need.
By N J Delmasa day ago in Horror
Comments (3)
You will always be enough & more in the estimation of those who matter.
That silence that remains can be a roar sometimes
That's what forced silence does...you've captured it beautifully, Kelli.