signal [the feathers]

pain is relative;

my relative;

relating to

myself.

pain

is a

bit

of a

mess.

pain is 

life's way,

a warning to 

my head, “oh,

hey, you are alive,

hey, you are a thing. 

that thing can bleed and 

cry and scream but hey, hey, 

it’s not too much, never say it’s 

too much, please, stop for a bit, step

away from the edge, i’m sorry, hey come

back here, you aren’t done, will never be done.”

pain, my friend, don’t lie, your name is really Hope.

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

teawithmochi

p.s. the shape is the thing that gets stuck in your throat when you want to speak and tricks you into thinking you don't need to

spfaiella

This is beautiful.

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