What the Mirror Doesn't Show
Wearing the Truth Behind a Lie
I stand beneath the winking of shaded heavens, holding fast to the brilliance of the moon
As it seizes me within its gravity and pulls me to its core
My breath is obvious against the night like the fight of a December rain and the warm air of June
Nightingales serenade the dark with a deafening hush
Oleander breath spoils my skin, infecting my veins like an inferno
The last remaining wish above darts across in a rush
Only strength I have stems from habitual obligation, I know
Kindness is seen as nothing more than a weakness, or
An invitation for something more
You don't, however, know me as you did before
About the Creator
A_Skeleton_Speaks
Formerly: Introducing Poetry
Writing allows me to release
All that holds me
Hope you enjoy the journey with me on a path to healing and growth!
Keep reading
More stories from A_Skeleton_Speaks and writers in Poets and other communities.
My Tolerated Self
I'd like to think I'd escape for better days. Even though the needles pricking into my skin may urge me to stay put, we are not meant for boxes and contraptions that will keep us inside. The needles aren't real, they are like bugs crawling on my skinβthose feelings will fade with clarity, but some days I am unwilling to step outside of my tolerated self; my bones crumble at the idea of a future uncertain. I'm used to the boxes that keep me in place even though I know I can walk right through them and I'd be fine.
By Andi Leigh4 days ago in Poets
We'z Walking on a Path Ruled By Numbers
This road has felt endless, yet limited; every step tracked. Inching away along this path, I feel trapped. Confined. Left to this narrow passage that may one day amount to something greater. Time is not a concept. Only distance. From start to finish, I laugh and cry and attempt to convince myself that this is worth it. I cannot stray. I must keep going. Every step etched, is a step taken, is measured as more than before. I cannot even recall how I got here. Maybe I donβt even really exist. Just another tick marking off a perceived presence. Of what though? I am just another line drawn. Nothing more, nothing less.
By Oneg In The Arctic3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Kindness is often seen as weakness and it annoys me so much. Loved your poem!