Beneath your clothes

On the soft part of your skin

There lies a bad land

No one should see.

You let me near you

Breathing softly,

But breathless and restless

Nonetheless, only yours.

It’s over your body

I take my hand

Brushing your skin

Healing your wounds.

Badlands have wild roses —

Thorns may prick fingers

I pay the price, anyway

For visiting you there.



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Hold on to the present. Let go of the past. Reach your hand out to the future. features my original poetry, mental health advocacy, and deep thoughts. Thanks for following and reading!

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