untitled poem 2/5/2026 by Angel Freyer

I am... abrasive. 

I wish I wasn't.

I do my best to become soft

To be as gentle as the summer breeze

As fluffy as a marshmallow

Smoother than silk...

But I am jagged 

And sharp

Lumpy 

and rough. 

I stumbled and tumbled 

All the way here.

Both seen and unseen

Heard and yet muted

I have always been this way

Said it 100 times but you dont hear me.