you'll never understand me

not even if the cicadas cried

ugly little things,

sin

living in our bones

creeping along,

slow.

sweet like sugar

sorrow,

all her restless woes.

pale as prayers

and bitter as blame,

i lied to you

because i knew

you wouldn’t see me the same.

i’d have changed.

we’re only as good

as what we hide,

and you’ll never understand me

not even if the cicadas cried

from inside

my marrow.

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this is another old poem that i thought i’d post. i wrote it sometime last year around summer. if there was ever a month that made me feel like i didn’t belong, it’d be august.
the cicadas scream and i decay.
everything is bathed in orange.
i am the bird with clipped wings
walking circles around the idea of us.

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picture i took while i was trying to reach my 15k steps