Untitled
And in her mouth she holds
Her bitten tongue
No vow undertaken
Every sweet song left unsung
Lovely and drowning and
Sick of being loved for her silence
Sick of being praised for her busy hands
Wanting to be worth more than her pain
Measured up by the aches in her spine
Serenaded by the rush of blood to her face
The pound of her terrified heart walking home at night
Beautiful
and someone who doesn't deserve this
Copyright © Jay Yeats | Year Posted 2019
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