Poem Hunter
Bag Of Wounds
BZL (8/8/76 / Chicago, Illinois)

Bag Of Wounds

Poem By Bree Z. Love

I was handed a bag of wounds that did not belong to me.
Handed to me; surprisingly.
As, if it was a token of love; a gift to be shared.
Me, being naive and foolish; I accepted the thing like it was fair.
Just because I am a person who is kind and cares.

The heaviness of your and mine was too much to bare.
That thing drained my mind and youthfulness.
Until, I was ridden and withered down.
Down to my last nerves; snapped.

Breaking the straps;
I ran right to the bins in those alleys that started this affair.
Dark and lonely; yet I was not even scared.
Dump those bags and walked away with just my own cares.

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Comments (1)

I am a person of cares and fair