Who am I?
I’m not sure anymore.
It seems like only yesterday
the answer would be a single digit number.
The age of a little girl.
Now who I am can’t even be summed up on paper.
Not in words.
Not in anything but emotions
that only I can feel.
Some days,
that gets the best of me.
Those days are hard to get through.
Those days are when a dirty look can make me cry,
when my thin shell is cracked to the point
that my eyes can’t seem to stop watering.
That’s when I ask myself hard questions,
like “who am I?”
YOU ARE READING
Poetry of All Shades
ŞiirBook of poetry I've written, some dealing with love, some with death, and some are completely random, enjoy!
