Dried. Cracked.
I miss my old skin;
my new one stretches too thin.
It itches, tearing
me apart. It Hurts.
Will I get used to It,
or Will I grow
a New one?
my new one stretches too thin.
It itches, tearing
me apart. It Hurts.
Will I get used to It,
or Will I grow
a New one?
New Haven, March 2018
(Hello! That's my first poem since my poetry course and I don't know if I like it or not. I guess I'm experimenting meaninglessly)
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