Written: June 4, 2015
The pencil felt foreign in my hand as I tried to perfect the page.
The flawed face held a fierce flat at me and whispered,
"You will never be good enough," trying to accomplish something once so simple.
The animated lips seemed to turn up at the corners, taunting me.
With a determined smile, I turned the page and started over.
Sometimes that's all you can do in life:
Turn the page, start over, and move on.
YOU ARE READING
Random poetry
PoetryI write when I'm sad or mad. Pretty much about anything. Read if you like.
