Those legs
What are those legs?
Those arms
What are those arms?
A man
How could you even give
yourself that title?
Those eyes
They see so much and so
little
One and the same
That face
I call that a disgrace
Why am I asking these questions?
I know that they will
soon become irrelevant
But I am a beggar
Asking for everything that
you do not want to talk about
You look in the mirror
And you are never satisfied
Is that good
Or are posies in your near future?
Disdain remains a commonality
in your day
You must open your eyes
Or I will continue to berate you
every day
-K
YOU ARE READING
Melancholy Dreams
PoetryMy poetry is an extension of myself. Every time I write, I stain the page with portions of my thoughts and emotions. Pieces of my former self lie in the stanzas. What is left is the current version of myself. This is my story, more or less.
