I flow,
My wounds so open
But, so well hidden.
I feel shallow and cold,
For what I fear
and what I have come to disgust.
I have so much to give
But, yet, I feel so inadequate.
Each stone rough,
Each stone polished,
Fill my existence.
As well, all the life inside me.
Some see beauty I can't find.
I feel more as a resource
Than a pleasure.
I hope I discover it soon....
For my confidence is soon to die.
YOU ARE READING
Chevron Notebook
PoesíaA composition of personal poems from a mind of a teenager searching for relation, happiness, and mental stability through her day to day struggles. Writing in hopes that when you read you can find some relation to her writing so you know you're not...
