"To me, November has always been soft songs,
piano keys, and the only time my mother
would let me use her lipstick.
We dressed real nice to the grown-up parties,
and looking back now, I see why my sisters and I
behaved without being told.
To me, November is always a flashback
to something I'm not sure I've lived.
I remember the only warmth was the cider on my lips,
I remember my face like an old mirror;
pearls, hats, and long eyelashes.
For one month I am lost."
-Schuyler Peck
YOU ARE READING
Poems
PoetryThis is a poetry book made from people who request to put their own poems in here to any poem I find online. It is made for people to share and express their thoughts and emotions. *NONE OF THESE POEMS BELONG TO ME* (REQUESTS ARE CLOSE)
