I look through the shadows of a life left behind
It was beautiful, it still is
Every stone, every plant tied together by memories he person you thought you knew
Shining as their youthful self
Their crooked handwriting almost undecipherable
Who was this person
The person that came before
Were they happy?
Did they laugh the same way?
What would they think about me?
Or about themself?
The clarity of familiarity makes way for questions
You find yourself, your very soul in the untidy poems
You also find questions
Were written for someone?
Were they supposed to be read?
Supposed to be published?
Was he happy with them?
Who was this person?
Who was this man?
Did his life go to plan?
Or did he just like the rest of us
Take the wrong turn
Make it worth it
With whatever he could earn
Because one thing I know for certain
He'd make the best of it
He wouldn't quit
Would he?
I realise I don't know you very well
But I know you better than I think
I wonder if I am similair
I wonder whether that's good
It is, isn't it?
I wonder who you are and who you've been
Because what am I but a child of broken oromises
I wonder whether my children will find my poems and ask
Who I was
Who I wanted to be
And perhaps who I am
And than I wonder, these poems...... Would I rather burn them?
YOU ARE READING
I shattered my own soul
Puisia bundle of love poems, I suspect there are gonna be a lot of bitter love poems but I'll try to include happy ones and now all your love is wasted, but who the hell was I?~ skinny love
