

DroMata
Poetry is life, poetry is death and sometimes in the middle but it's what I got left.
Floating around
Waiting for a sound
Heart pitter patters
But what does it matter
It’s just me, only me
No one holding me
Maybe it’s better to be alone
Without it, I wouldn’t have grown
Sprouted from the broken petals
After all the dust has settled.
Grown from my tears
Overcoming my fears
I’m a work in progress
But I'm not less
I’m just, just.
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For every moment that
I still exist
Take a deep breath and
Hope for a moment of bliss
In the moments I’m
Deep in my abyss
Wonder, perhaps I
Deserve this.
The torment pulls at the
Heart in my chest
Like it’s become
Familiar crest
Words have been
Etched in my soul’s papyrus
So much so, it’s the furthest
Vision visible by my iris.
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