splinters
they bury deep
too small to see
woven into memory
a quiet ache
a phantom touch
a scar that never fully shuts
they shape the way i brace for pain
the way i flinch, the way i stay
they shape the way i reach for warmth
yet fear the fire all the same
each splinter tells a story still
a mark of love, a wound, a will
some i hold and call my own
some i dig for
some have grown
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
