It's a game,
The smiles.
Practice doesn't make perfect.
How can he know?
Leave me alone,
It's easier to be like this,
When nobody stares,
And no one looks.
But he does,
He always does.
YOU ARE READING
Wilted
PoetryShe couldn't see him, But she was all he could see. Raw Poetry, by: Mae Ethlyn
Her
It's a game,
The smiles.
Practice doesn't make perfect.
How can he know?
Leave me alone,
It's easier to be like this,
When nobody stares,
And no one looks.
But he does,
He always does.
