Yesterday was a history,
Only figments of my memory,
Those flashes aren't even real,
Why am making it a big deal?
Last week, I saw a girl,
Sitting inside her wooden crib,
Food stains on her bib,
Innocence, it's her thrill.
Two days ago, I saw a young lady,
So beautiful and keen, all because of puberty,
She never failed to show her dimpled smile,
Not letting others know what she truly feel inside.
The other night, I saw her again,
All the beauty lost, eyes full of pain,
That smile on her faltered,
Her broken pieces never really heard.
Yesterday, I looked at a mirror,
I stared in shock, eyes full of terror,
Because I realized that the young lady I see,
Was nobody else but me.
----
me and my fucked up life.
YOU ARE READING
3 A.M. POEMS
Poetrypoems born from the chilly wind of three in the morning *also features some of my poems written when i was in college
