Toys on the floor and a small room.
Passing most of the time there, after school.
Colorful the world from those big eyes full of unknown words.
Unable to speak the language of the grown ups, he goes around not knowing anything at all.
Just the warmness of the sun going into that room, though the window.
He plays with the lights, thinking of that as a sort of magic.
Colorful way to tell that I love you, but there is no words that I can tell.
Just toys on your room and a pretty smile.
You, too small to get words and this huge world we live in.
I must protect you and I try to, but, unable to even protect myself, I let the world turning, letting time pass fast.
Unable to be who I want to be, even for who I love the most.
In this colorful room I've made for you, I cry a little while you sleep thanks to a lullaby I sang on repeat.
Cause I love you, but I can't help you as I want.
Cause I'll not be able to let you know it with words.
And God, how much I'll hate myself, as much as you must.
YOU ARE READING
Called home
Poetrywhat do you call home? a place, a person or a memory? maybe a song, a picture still inside your room... maybe them all, maybe nothing can let yourself feel calm enough to call it home. A lot of different scenarios with different experiences, what w...
