Tirade


 

I will

beat my breast

bruise my hands

exhaust my lungs

raw my throat

expose my skin—

forcing attention until

 

You will

look in my face

meet my own gaze

acknowledge my pain

and tell me there’s something here

left to save. 

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About thefreescribbler

My life is one of words. I am a scribbler, whose thoughts are best expressed through adjectives and phrases and punctuation marks. I would not go so far as to call myself a writer, although many would disagree. I’m characterized more by my unfinished works and half-embodied ideas, scraps of stories and parts of poems. Maybe one day I’ll be a writer, but I’m okay with being a scribbler right now. It fits my personality and style, and best expresses my aims. I’m not trying to create some lofty version of literature. I’m just a kid blogging about life. View all posts by thefreescribbler

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