Under The Soil.
And I hope you forgive me, I have
a hard time trying to belong, I think
I don't want to, I was uprooted a long
time ago, so let me rephrase it, I can't
say sorry for something that happened
before I was born.
I want to say something different,
but there are scars on my back and
I can't ignore them, they burn at night
and keep me company while I stay up
thinking - how I should keep trying,
how I should learn to hurt less.
Maybe you could understand it,
I think about it when I see you,
thorns on your palms, red on your cheeks,
shame you can't scrub off - with blood and
half-truths in your mouth, an earnest devotion
to keep who you used to be alive.
Different brains, similar life, childishly I
think of a black heart, a black eye —
it looks different but it all lands the same,
overflowing when we're both lying down
on the ground, no one to see the cynical tears,
everything we fight to conceal, keep down.
If we were a little kinder to ourselves
we could learn to move on, instead of
holding onto dead ends and punishments,
why are we so sure we deserve to live in constant
fear? I guess we're a little closer to dying before
we bloom into ourselves, hollow and blue.