i've tried to forget
i have, believe me
but still my past,
where i came from,
what i hoped and believed and begged,
still haunts me
it clings to my skin
like beads of sweat
like scars
like ink
and everyday i fear
that they'll see it on me
and know
that i have left behind
some crucial human part of me
when i left a past full of a thousand little hurts
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the poetry garden《a poetry collection》
Poetry"The flowers are dead But still, they remember The girl who bled Words, not red As she lay down to die Right on the flowers bed." An ever-growing collection of heartfelt poems.
