Poem: Statistical Lasting

That life is but a school,
For the bold, the broken, the bleeding.

Where they find a way of reducing you,
Into dish water.

I can hear you hissing at me,
For these terrible claims.

I survived that life with only my pride,
Come back later when you’ve felt the slap of a feather belt.

They tend to sting more than you think,
Twist your mind in upon itself.

They touch you experimentally,
To find the best way to push you off sanity.

Take action and stand true,
The men in the black coats can’t have you.

Unlike the man in the moon,
Who’s enchantment is purity incarnate.


About lowkiespeaks

I am a poetess, a mother-to-be, a pround woman, and stubborn beyound reason. View all posts by lowkiespeaks

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