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Walls are nothing of importance,
or so it would seem after
hours
of staring into oblivion.
After a while it becomes
a mass,
a mass that is painted different colors
to look different ways.
But, underneath the thick layers of
pink paint, yellow paint, red paint,
paint that different people have chosen,
all that's left is a plain white wall
waiting and wanting
to show its true colors.
Today I feel like a wall,
painted to be
everyone but me.
YOU ARE READING
Falling
PoetryA collection of short poems about pain and struggling with depression. Note: For everyone reaching out and asking if I'm okay, yes I am! I struggle with depression and writing helps me cope when I'm sad. It is a good outlet for my feelings and it ma...
