i sit on the back of my father's dirty truck,
a shadow rippled across my face from the towering trees
in rough classic jeans
a pajama shirt
and tousled hair.
and the sun is warm on my face
a slight smile curls at the edges of my lips
it feels familiar
but not quite the same
i know i've changed,
i sont really know who i am anymore
when i look in the mirror i don't know my face
who is this girl with straight short hair
no disgrace
blue eyes bright
but not in the way they used to be
it's sickening
i don't know what happened
i don't even know what i want.
i hear voices
coming from inside
and i think of you because i'm writing poetry
and i hop off of the back of the truck
because i know my mother will yell at me if she sees this "unladylike" behaviour.
i land and wobble on my feet
and i put away my journal
and put on a see-through smile.
YOU ARE READING
the lowest heights
PoetryI thought to write this book as a little more abstract and informal because I needed something that's just a small escape from everyday life because, as all of you probably know, life is hard. I hope you enjoy these small poems and little rants. Tha...
