It’s the kind words that hurt the most.
not the playground names but
the love you before you catch
the train to a new city,
the I’m proud of you when your father
takes your hand in his, mottled with liver spots .
the I’m sorry that transforms
comfortable anger into aching regret.
we are a powerless in the face of love,
held hostage by the threat that
it might slip from our fingers.
it is unbearable.
it is exquisite
I am a writer and recent from the University of Cambridge in the UK. I love to write poetry, fiction and journalism and travel writing and regularly perform spoken word poetry. I love discovering new original poetry from writers on wordpress, twitter and instagram and am excited to see all the guest posts on this blog. My blog handle is sarahcollinswrites.wordpress.com
If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog to the e-mail firstname.lastname@example.org