Dying People Smile Too - Poem by Breanna Choma
There is a knife in my back.
Blood is running out as the rest drowns my soul, but it seems to be just out of reach and I can’t pull it back.
Tears take shelter in my eyes;
each drop is composed of potent acid.
They fall and reopen old wounds, and in that moment I know there is sure to be scar.
Stopped second guessing me and now I second guess everything;
tell me, why I hadn’t second guessed him?
I am Impaled by my own insecurities for trusting the wrong people with sensitive information.
The knife was only an additive to the pain caused by those before him.
I am a china plate halfway off the counter, tipping...
Voices in the back of my head taunt me with their words;
it isn’t long before, yet again, I hear them as if they are me.
I am Broken, but I was only bent before being bent back wrong.
They look at me and tell me I will be alright because I am strong, but being strong isn’t my suit.
They tell me to keep smiling, but a smile isn’t a reassurance that it will be alright.
I can’t sleep, but I can wake-up.
On most days I find myself wondering why it couldn’t have been the other way around, and I only seem to consider it more now.
Don’t they know dying people smile too?
Comments about Dying People Smile Too by Breanna Choma
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You