Everybody in this life
has a book that writes hers/his rhymes
writes the pain of the past
the pain that we hold and hide
the mystery of it
is the chapter we refuse to show
the only one that has the truth of us
or maybe the worst of us
no matter the reason
or how is written
no matter what happens
or what you do
that chapter won't show its words
so sometimes I sit in my room,
and I search for that book,
reading what happened before and the things that I could do
Obviously I can't change its history
once it's written, it can't change
but all this pages in blank
all those pages I want to rip apart
it just sometimes
doesn't get in my head
that this is not a game
not a movie
it's reality
and nothing really goes you way
not as you plan
and this book
is the living proof of that
YOU ARE READING
Not as expected
PoetryJust some thought and stories from a girl that likes to talk alone because most of the time there's nobody to listened or nobody to talk to
