Shallow graves

Photo by Pix Tresa on Unsplash

How to sit with all this movement?

Feeling stuck not feeling fluid

All this anger, all this shame

Pointing fingers, choosing blame

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Secrets in the back of cupboards

Bodies under creaking floorboards

Corners where I cannot look

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Pages torn right from the book

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My biggest fears, the deepest sorrows

Are hidden now on time that’s borrowed

Slowly bones begin to surface

The shallow graves have served their purpose

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I struggle now to look away

Accepting them as here to stay

Some flow returns and trickles through

As life returns and starts anew