top of page

The Sickness is Me

By Gracelyn N. Rose


They tell me I am sick

But this sickness

It is who I am

I can never change

They tell me I am damaged 

With whiskey on their breaths

If I was damaged

For being this way

Aren't they damaged, as well?

All is swell

In the well 

The hole that I have dug for myself

In the well

All is swell

They are damaged as well

For being this way

If I was damaged 

With whiskey on their breaths

They tell me I am damaged 

But I can never change

It is who I am

This sickness

They tell me I am sick

But how can I be sick when this is who I am?

The sickness is me.


By Gracelyn N. Rose


Recent Posts

See All
How the Moon Loves the Sun

By Lahari Dharmala the sun, who makes the moon shine brightly when it can't yet it's so hard for them to meet, rare to shine together but people are fascinated by it when they do, the moon gets buried

 
 
 
Existence

By Avery Jorgensen Everything relies on the Xylem and phloem of life It is what brings us the unknowns of the future, and what Sends away the joys and pains of the past Tomorrow, and the next day, we

 
 
 
Favours I Shouldn't Have To Do

By Avery Jorgensen Sitting in a cafe on our long drive back into town They ask “can you scrape off my nail polish before I get home?” Wincing at the pain, as the acrylic barely chips To avoid a pain t

 
 
 

Comments

Rated 0 out of 5 stars.
No ratings yet

Add a rating
bottom of page