Bombs Poem by Emma Good

The warm tears stain my shirt
They hit like the bombs that are sure to come
My hands spread them over my cheeks
Just like I will try to wipe away every mean word you will say to me
My knees are up to my chin, my arms are wrapped around my legs
There isn't anyone else to hug
I rock myself away, hoping that as I pray things will change
I feel weakened by this life
I feel stupid for being so weak
I miss holding your hand. I miss you reaching for mine.