Confession #1


“I can’t,” I said.  “I’m not okay.”

It was true, because I couldn’t force it,

couldn’t make myself better.  

“I just needed the warmth of another

human being; I never asked

for all this.”

And that was true too.

I would wish to cry, 

but I know it’s pointless 

and there’s no reason to try.

I’m left longing for sleek silver 

and an empathetic embrace,

not quite sure which I want

(which would hurt?) more.  

They would both break me down,

make me bleed.  

“I’ve never been honest.”



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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