A poem for me,
a gift for you,
I write poems,
for everybody in this room.
They praise and tell,
then push me back into hell,
and I write poems,
on the walls of the cave.
For they tell me they love me,
that I'm a good friend,
then they hate me,
I'm aggressive, bad, sensitive;
When can I end?
And I write poems,
on the caves walls.
No poem for me,
a poem for you,
I scribble poems,
Why do they all end, as gifts to you?
-Z.R.w
YOU ARE READING
Loner thoughts
PoetryHi, my names Red Life, I write poems. I wanted to make a book of all my poems about different things I felt and what went inside my head. If you relate to any of these. I know sorry doesn't do nothing. But I am. I am sorry.
