PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The ticking of the clock
means another bomb
is about to go off.

She raises her voice;
he raises his fist.

And I lower my head
as my eyes well up.

I'm the byproduct of their mistakes
so does that make me
the reason for their problems?

I inhaled their hatred
and called it my own.

I breathed those hand-me-down words
back out at anyone who came too close.

They filled my lungs
with the pain of rejection,

but I don't want to choke.

I was exposed to the fumes
of my environment,
but I don't want to be
the victim of secondhand smoke.

Will I be the one to
break the habit?

Will I be the one to
rise above the ashes?