Palms sweat. My shoulders get too tight and my muscles start to ache. Move. I need to move. I have never been able to take my medicine and swallow my sentence without resistance. I’m like a vine that struggles to reach the sun – scales the walls flexes her leaves with every ounce of vitality…

A poem by Bethany N. Bella

A poem by Bethany N. Bella

A poem by Bethany N. Bella

A poem by Bethany N. Bella | ‘bare bones‘

A poem by Bethany N. Bella | bare bones