poems

the streets

this house, this home, these streets I roam,
I can't help but know I've lost it all.
the puddles in the road
show a reflection of someone who is not me,
who cannot be me.
i am the girl with the happy smile,
the light brown hair in ringlet curls,
the angel vacationing here on earth.
i am not the girl who forgets to smile,
forgets to remember and forgets to breathe.
at least,
i didn't used to be.

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