The trails don't go,
as far as your home.
The travels in the dark,
where the sun is scare,
and the cold nips and barks.
The road twists,
and turns in the grass.
And the flowers line the edge,
of the worn path.
But I'd pick a bouquet,
as bright as your personality.
And bring a jar of stars,
that you deserve
along with all the kindness of the world,
from the sky above.
And when I reach your home,
I'd admire all the hearts,
ever to pass through.
Then I'd rush in,
once the door is opened.
And hug you,
and not let you go,
until you understand,
that everything will be okay.
YOU ARE READING
Nobody Was Meant to See
Poetry[Trigger Warning, please be safe when reading] They aren't supposed to know. They aren't meant to read these poems that I'm writing. I've concealed them for a reason. -Shitty poems about how I feel-
