grief is the ball in the box with the button. and though the box and button get larger and smaller, the ball stays the same. my grief doesn't shrink for me. as the box widens and the ball bounces, it presses the button less and and less. but on days like these, the ball and box are of equal size and the button is pressed flat into use. and the pain seeps through the cardboard, turning my insides.
in three years and 363 days there will be no part of me that has been touched by you. but six years and 326 days since he was inside me.
in six years and 326 days i hope to find the box larger, and the bouncing less frequent. to find the grief contained, and the pain less immobilizing. but on days like these i give my soul a rest from my reality.
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sometimes rain, sometimes rainbow - poetry collection
Poetrya collection of poems, written in real time about the good, the bad, and the ugly that comes with healing. PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS this poetry collection includes themes and descriptions of: sexual violence/assault/harassment PTSD halluci...
