Source: blackmansdiary.com
We Hurt,
We mask our pain in bed sheets
Wanting to cover the scars
We’ve tried applying make-up to.
We Cry,
Not knowing why
Unattached to the reality of the sickness we have.
So We Weep
Running back and forth around the playground
Only hoping our playmate is ideal-
Like in our imagination.
Yet We Take It,
Loving them more than we love ourselves-
Like we wished someone else could.
But in the end,
We’re left alone with nothing, but ourselves
Not knowing why the bed sheets, the make-up, or the empty love never rid the pain.
Author: Christina Anderson
Nommo Contributor