The urge.
The itch.
Scratching layer after layer.
I’m angry and totally sick of it.
Punching the ball of rage.
Blunt, bruised and blackened.
Through healing I’m bleeding.
I cry oceans from grief.
So I can swim my way to freedom.
And one day be weightless.
No urge, no itch.
Featherlight and fly.
Living my life.

M.P.Yasmine

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.