There is a place I always go to escape,
A place where I'm not bothered.
A place where I can be myself,
A place where I'm not troubled.
There is this place where a bench-swing rests,
It's white paint coming off turning brown from the dirt underneath.
The swing sits in the midst of trees,
But the wind can still gently blow,
So I guess you can say I mostly come here a lot when I'm alone.
The Thinking Swing is where my best ideas happen,
And where all my sorrows bleed,
It's a place not many know,
Only the few around me.
The Thinking Swing is my safe haven on solid ground.
The Thinking Swing 7/18/19 10:12
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Midnight Thoughts
PoetryJust an average girl trying to fit into a world using only words to describe her soul to others. ••These are random poems that I have thought of before and after the clock strikes midnight. They might not be the best, but you can always check them o...
