AFPoetry

Your thoughts are semi-automatic. Pull your finger off the trigger And be careful where you leave your weapon, It could go off at any moment.

During the second class they asked where we grew up. Him with the scars scattered like knives across his face said he came from the desert. A place where conflict was engraved into the spirit of man Where holding your child was a rarity that induced a peculiar softness never to be explored

They came to me and I froze because really, where I grew up had never factored into my growing. How do you say you were raised in between arguments and slamming doors. And you had to grow away from everything you lived in, to stay sane within four walls? I'm more familiar with Mum's tears than I may ever be with her joy.

I learned that kids was spelled leverage once differences became more promising than marriage vows. I grew up in stagnant divorce empty-shell exchanges and egg-shelled floors fake smiles served to guests on the shiniest of silver, reflections rebounding like spears. Before dinner they bow their seasoned heads as the last thing they can agree on and pray for reason to stay and the strength to leave.

Whichever comes first.

Love was never brought into the argument. Funny that the thing that brought them together in the first place became undeserving of a mention. I'm sure it still sits in both of their mouths buried under a tongue too trained away from togetherness to ever come up

I suppose I grew up like him, with a heart of scars. Holding tight to love layered in loss and that is what has made us who we are.

-- Sophia Thakur

I don't go back to sleep, my eyes just drift off without my consent until they remember they're not awake.

I'm not short, I'm just an average-sized, medium tall.

you take away all its compassion.