I hate being asked the question "why are you so afraid?"
But it's so hard to mention how many times I've been played,
It's so hard to tell them how I cry in the shade,
It's so hard to mention how I fell apart when they waved,
And how every part of me had wished that they stayed.
They say I write like a seasoned poet,
But this is just my debut.
They say my writing is awful and that there's nothing below it,
But the words only work if they mean something to you.
The truth is when I look in the mirror all I see is disappointment,
But I keep it bottled up and say I do this for enjoyment.
Because it's impossible to tell them how I've broken down into tears,
And how I can't ever hold my ground when a nightmare appears.
YOU ARE READING
Yours Truly, Me.
Poetry" I can lie just like they tell me, or I can break this crazy spell/ I can fake my way to heaven, or take my sorry ass to hell, " -Yours Truly, Me.
