vi. WHAT CAN'T BE HIDDEN.
you are heavy wired in veins that carry blood,
a silk bag full of bones,
chocolate milk swirls in the irises of your eyes;
yet you're still sad
tomorrow is sunday
and even then you'll be sad
for the bruises have healed
and bandaids cover papercuts that no longer exist
as deep as they once had.
it's your heart that hurts,
your soul that is scarred worse than the forearms
of teenage mothers and ankles of closet hidden boys
no medication,
no amount of stickiness and thickness of bandaids
can heal the pain you have buried
behind the clouds in the eyes i have grown to love.
YOU ARE READING
what tomorrow brings.
Poetryxvii, april. (iii). you have no voice if no one is listening. © playlist poetry h.r. : #3
