I wish to be a painting
My skin: green and blue
So abstract and deformed
So beautifully incorrect
Rearranged in places
My mind muddled
I would finally be able to forget
What a beautiful painting
Of a child who was still
A child
Not me
Never me
I wish to be a painting
Filled with all the things
My memory longs to remember
Playtime at the swings
The simplistic things
Oh how I wish
To be in those moment
After dying
A thousand times
Just so I could feel
Something
YOU ARE READING
My Book of Poems #1 ✔️
Poetryessentially this is a book where I write down all my favourite original poems - the ones that made me feel something as I wrote them, the ones that made me smile, made me cry and made me scream into my pillow at night. My poems tell my story in ways...
