The hardest thing to admit
it's that it was never me,
but this place has something
that kills me inside every time.
The sad part of it all,
it's that from now on I'll blame it on them,
I'll hate coming back
and this time I'd be right;
this time there's a reason why.
And maybe this city broke me in some way,
maybe it was never completely on me
if I felt like an outsider,
if I ended up hurt by common words;
maybe the truth is simply that
my home never understood me
and in fact "home"
it's just a place you grew in.
X.EREN
YOU ARE READING
21st Century
Poesíanowadays situations and histirical events seen from a different perspective - this world is like a little kid, it's still growing, that's what my mother always says; but I believe that for it to actually be a better place, we should help each othe...
