I didn’t rhyme sometimes, sometimes the words come from my heart,
I sometimes speak vulnerability through my art.
My tears write poetry with it in the clouds that once came for dropping,
I haven’t completed some of my writing since December 18.
I ain’t a healer, but some helped me in my recovery.
I have left some bonds, some were meant for fixing,
I wrote emotions and sentiments for heartless they were meaningless,
I screamed in front of people,
my outrage was worshipped back then.
Move from places that weren’t mine to breathe in,
I felt suffocated in arms that were meant for my healing.