Sometimes my past
Flashes in fragments like glass,
And to see with such clarity
Cuts lines like sharp therapy-
Am I better for
The beast I used to be?
Or is she still lurking
Inside of me?
A poet observing her world
Sometimes my past
Flashes in fragments like glass,
And to see with such clarity
Cuts lines like sharp therapy-
Am I better for
The beast I used to be?
Or is she still lurking
Inside of me?