wrath
Published in
Oct 29, 2020
I buried
my gifts.
I cannot
find them
anymore.
I stayed
to let
the days pass,
dense and reassuring
between
things at home.
I do not think.
The persistent wrath
something is missing:
I do not know what the name
is.
Writer for
“I write what I couldn’t tell anyone”. writer. poet, observer. Relationship. Parenting. Personal Growth. Enchanted with life. Thin Skin/amazon.com