@Clintbling
Let This Letter Be An Obituary I Never Get To Give Myself
Let this poem be the obituary I never get to give myself And a letter to the archeologist who finds my skeletons Here is what my mouth couldn't speak of And what my bones couldn't tell you My bones will never tell you that I was born from a woman who saw me as a burden Whose love I second guessed all my life It wont tell you that I was born from a man with a soul As sane as angel Whose love saved me from thousand deaths It wont show you My pierced skin My bruised thighs My slayed wrists My battles And how Everyone run to home to find peace and How I was forced to do the opposite It won't say a thing about how I fought a disease which succeded at silencing me An illness which left me separated from Society in a cubicle with lives that salivate over death Whose way of living society fears and pities At the same time Whose wardrobe is filled with long sleeved shirts and everything able to dump scars and insecurities in A group of faces that learnt at a young age Of how to make pretty shit out of painful shit It wont tell you how many times I wiped tears off my chick It wont show you the bags under my eyes It wont ever tell you that my path of healing started with suffocating my pain inside a bottle of pills I was like a puzzle whose pieces were found in different people but noone could put together I hope that maybe this could help you So make this also a letter of forgiveness For the ones I hurt in my silence To my Daddy And mostly Myself.
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