when i didn’t like it, i’d cross it out, when it didn’t go my way i’d scribble it a hundred times until self tore and the pen fell through, smeared smiles and rehearsed lines and i’d be alright cause mom said i’d grow out of it, well now i’m up and out and fallen into something else, they all believe i’m alright as evidenced by the ascending notches along my height chart, i pleaded until coke turned to sprite, why worry my parents with carcinogenics stalking the gums when i could pass silently reading the scars on flipped hands, don’t fret your pretty head or stagger that fleeing footfall of pity asunder, i’ve chosen ink over poison now, it leaves quite the mess, i pray you’ll recover my notebooks once i’ve moved on, the guilt of many many missing sheets corroding your teeth like the soft guidance and kool-aid you forced on me as a kid when all i asked for was the clarity of a glass of water.
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© Copyright Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.
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9 thoughts on “trauma”
This is so beautiful, Joseph. I think spilling ink is the best mess one can make. It reeks of creative splendor. Why be reckless in any other way? Haha.
Water was all that was needed. This is so deep. 🙂
hey Terveen! thank you so much! spilt ink also keeps me out of trouble lol
bravo Poeta xo
much appreciated, my lovely poet xo 🥰
So evocative and full of vivid images! Great work, Joseph 💛☀️
thank you so much, Sunra! i appreciate that (and you)! 🥰
You’re most welcome, Joseph! 🙂
I so enjoyed this. Your writing is so. Beautiful and unique 💗
hi! thank you, i really appreciate that. i hope you pour yourself a drink of choice and enjoy my past (and future) works as well. did you listen to my audio version? 😉🙏