Poems from margbarti
Most Birthdays,
I weep.
But not 17
When I was thirteen
I cut my hair too short,
and got that camera I wanted
and I wept into my mothers...
Dear Adreinne Rich,
As a child a clasped white knuckles together in an attempt to will god into being good.
the soap on my eyelids smelled...
I got a bit of blood
on your white couch
I restrained myself
From feeling too guilty
Too scared-
I was successful in doing so
But I...