two thousand feathers,
less than a pound.
little bird sings,
oh, how she soars.
and when the thunder claps,
few feathers shall remain.
little bird's wings spread,
she lets out her roar.
rain patters against tin roofs,
and no one will hear her,
forevermore.
YOU ARE READING
red-stained fingertips
Poetryprose and poetry and blood and romance. a fucking stupid combination. ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ TW: some poems mention suicide, self-harm, homophobia, and eating disorders started in september of 2021 #4 in poetry 8 . 8 . 23
