You are not the heaviness of your bones,
the ache inside that keeps you up at night.
You are made of salt water and sand,
fading into the pink, warm summer light.
You are not the reason love is gone,
the demon living inside of someone else.
You deserve to be loved deeply, my dear;
something perhaps you've truly never felt.
You are not the sickness that steals your sleep,
your body's primal scream that makes you writhe.
Your body does not hurt so, because you're broken;
it's the one true way you know that you'll survive.
By Abby Norman
the ache inside that keeps you up at night.
You are made of salt water and sand,
fading into the pink, warm summer light.
You are not the reason love is gone,
the demon living inside of someone else.
You deserve to be loved deeply, my dear;
something perhaps you've truly never felt.
You are not the sickness that steals your sleep,
your body's primal scream that makes you writhe.
Your body does not hurt so, because you're broken;
it's the one true way you know that you'll survive.
By Abby Norman