2 pm by Kori – Written 1/10/17

My innocence has already faded,

eaten raw by crocodiles disguised as leaders.

Manipulation leads to guilt and confusion.

Words that will never dance in the air,

until the day you aren’t here.

Even then I won’t speak ill of the dead,

I’ll leave the words unsaid on a blog.

I have rare moments of happiness,

just pretending, anger, and blood boiling hate.

Self help books fills my shelf and wish lists,

wanting to fix everything wrong with me.

Doctors say, “You aren’t broken.”

But constantly being punched causes bruises.


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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

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