Apr 14
Maybe it was the vast crudeness in my voice,
The trinkets I collected and kept,
And used to sweep my rooms into chaos.
Perhaps, perhaps it was the excessive care and culturing,
I took of my books and habits.
Or the way I held you too tightly in the early morning rays.
I don't know what drove you from me,
How horribly you must think of me,
As I already think of myself.
Maybe I should have tried harder,
Perhaps I could have been like HER,
Or been HER but better, more.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry For The Lost People
Poetry365 observations and comments about society, life and love throughout 2022. Come with me on my journey day by day, as I write what I've always wanted to say. There is no method or planning, just thoughts and perceptions about the way of the world. A...
