if i were a painting, i'd be smudged and unclear
just like my future, just how i feel
my canvas might be broken, ripped and shredded
life gets you down even as hard as you try to not let it
if i were a tree, i'd be toppled and fallen
a reflection of how i lie here, tired and bawling
my leaves would be gone, shriveled up and dead
like how i feel with all these manic thoughts in my head
if i were a wall, i'd be punched in with unfinished plaster
for that's how you left me, how i still feel so long after
my wallpaper never finished, parts torn away
you used me, and ruined me, but i was still undone that day
if i were a fruit, i'd be rotten and moldy
how my heart feels, beating in a slivered symphony
my once sweet taste would be so long gone
for each person who came, and then left
made me defenseless with no one to lean on
i'd be all these things, but at least i'm still me
i think
YOU ARE READING
where tears may fall.
Poetrywords unspoken and lost, skittering away to plant themselves on paper. i'd love to hear feedback [it may or may not be vital for my self esteem]; thanks for taking the time to read my sad, silly thoughts. [lowercase intended.]
