dead and buried










dead and buried experience stories
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A poem I wrote about the negative experience of growing up. Thank you for reading <3

dead and buried

(half-lives and past lives)

once i painted the sky red because the blue paint

didn't punch a hole in my gut like it used to before.

let me begin again.

let me begin again. once i let the image of a man promise

to drag me by the scruff of my neck and hang my limbs

from the yellow floral curtains of my old bedroom.

once,

once, once i wrote a poem all wrong where the words

flinched,

flinched, flinched,

flinched, flinched, cinched in place until their little souls

laughed at the grey misery

laughed at the grey misery that took our bones hostage.

once someone had it easier than you did.

once, we did not grow in another's silhouette.

once,

once, the only mistake i made was

not leaving enough space for winter to stretch its arms

through my yellow curtains.

through my yellow curtains. yellow is not a happy colour.

once, we are at sixteen,

once, we are at sixteen, we are already dead and buried.

once, we are at sixteen, we are already dead and buried. (i.n.)

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