Almost Poetic

Misplaced metaphors pt. I

And sometimes you have to lay mother to rest while she still draws breath

Because there is nothing nurturing about the woman before your eyes

She is all blades and your skin has run out of room for anyone to scribble their regrets

You have to be your fortress, forever finding places in you to keep you safe

Because all that mother taught you is how to break

And now you’re a puzzle, and some pieces don’t quite fit

Misplaced metaphors all over your skin 

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