Photo by Jonas Weckschmied on Unsplash
I lurk within tall grass while my hands clasp to sharp glass.
I ensure I endure pain as I outlast as an outcast.
If my skin is equivalent to tree bark
and my sins are instruments of street art,
then I’ll happily peel away my soul to expose
the thin leaks within my hide and seek heart.
About the Creator
Kale Sinclair
Author | Poet | Husband | Dog Dad | Nerd | Zen Practitioner
Find my published poetry, and short story books here!
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