She’s not perfect, not even close
She’s such a mess, but who isn’t?
She likes leaving things undone
Like dishes piling up in the sink
Feelings scattered all over the table
She’s an unread poem closed up tight
A dusty book on some forgotten shelf
Her tangled lines are begging to be free
Her verses so hard to see let alone read
A body that’s fighting just to survive
But a mind that’s steady trying to die
The thoughts keep destroying her
She says she tries not to talk about it
But that silence is a known killer too
Maybe she’s not meant to be read
By someone as cold-hearted as me
But there’s something about her wreck
That just won’t let me go my own way
Like a car that is crushing in slow motion
And me not being able to look away

✍🏾📖🇰🇪