isosceles
my new life
will cost me
my old one;
creeks and
geocaching
a red face
and an awful haircut
but i hadnt
seen any of it
in a mirror
and now i see
remnants of it
chipping away
on my bedsheets
when i get up
every morning
and i wonder
when i became
old enough to
wish that i was
younger again
YOU ARE READING
poetry
Poetrypoetry with no rhyme or rain most of these r rlly old and embarrassing but im keeping them for the lore
