me, me, me
when i read back my poetry it screams “me, me, me” on my screen in bold letters
and i can’t shut it up — most days, i cannot make any other words out; i want to throttle a thousand versions of the me gone by, i want to throw myself from a figurative balcony, i want to sink a sword into every pen i’ve held
Comments (2)
Oooo, God's wounded, I really love that! Your photo is beautiful!
I do wonder sometimes or he could be angry as well.