Clinging against the walls of blood loss

You're dying, though you're not living

Killed; tiredness was you, babe

Premature, open wound

You are the baby

You are silent

You are born

No breath


This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741