Walls Are Hard. Words Are Harder. (Poem)

I want to shut my eyes, to cry.

I’m tired, wearied to my bones

By conversations where I’m thrown

Again and again

Against the concrete walls of your expectations.

I lay crumpled on the ground,

My grief purpled by darkening bruises.

The walls, once white, are bloody and stained.

Where do you look, when you turn away?