Chisel
Do not read this
I am not ready to share
The beauty of these words
Of every hidden scar
Not a warrior yet
Take every line from this only battlefield
Not done grieving yet
If there was a lesson here it’d be in ink
And you. All of you would be embers
Your hateful words ashes.
Not ready to say it didn’t lay claim.
And how do you do it? Did it just roll off like sweat from your skin?
Clinging to me. If it wasn’t perfect.
The crumbled dust of character building.
Too much chisel makes a ruin of art.
The professor said what happened didn’t enhance anything. If anything, it made it less of who we were meant to be. We were who we were before the storm. Before it hit the fan. Don’t believe him.