The Early Years Poem by anne beau
The Early Years
the darkness lays a cloak of obscurity,
as we use our bodies in twisted ways,
as twisted shapes,
slithering under my blanket of shame.
and all the hair that wraps around my head
is dead.
and we'll lie and listen for the monsters
that are creeping under our bed.
'be silent.'
we said.
we need not to hear our transgressions.
as we stifle our silent screams,
sin is beauty
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 2:05:23 PM # 1.0.0.1119
