It is a stretch to call my dodgy poetry 'entertainment' but I wasn't sure where else to put it.
self-fulfilling prophecy
Precipitation
Is it true that
if you fear,
the world appears
to turn its hurt
upon your ears?
And if misused
from early age,
abused by others’ rage,
it’s bruises you exude?
And when you dare to doubt
they shout and scare,
tearing at your will
and say they ‘care’.
But when no-one hears
your anguished cries,
memories languish
in latent spaces,
where lonely tears
bleed upon
tomorrow’s seedlings.