I've always been so terrified
Of forgetting who I once was
That somehow I've managed to collect
parts of myself along the way
Simple books of epic adventure remind me of a child oblivious to the real world
Lost in her own fantasy
A color scheme of neon everything
brings back memories of a girl
oblivious to the fact that others stare at
those who don't fit in
A glossy chess set and desk stacked high with books
tell of a student no longer oblivious to her intelligence
Unending piles of empty journals
remind me of a broken hearted writer
who lacked a story to tell
Crowded walls remind me of a victim of their own mind
someone who fought to expel every thought from their head and plaster it on the
world around them
Nonexistent photographs remind me of a teen that often preferred to feel alone
But eventually...
The books gained complexity...
The colors faded naturally...
Her wisdom grew hungrily...
The story came recklessly...
The walls were organized carefully...
The camera filled its self ruthlessly...
And the girl?
She grew beautifully.
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Please vote and comment any suggestions! I enjoy trying out different formats and use of grammar so feedback on how it reads would be extremely helpful.
YOU ARE READING
The Sloth Saga
PoetryGreetings from your friendly neighborhood sloth! I'm perpetually tired, coffee addicted, rapidly inconsistent, and writing to you about the horrors of life. Lose your expectations now for feelings rarely have a pattern and maybe then you'll learn a...
