I knew a boy who liked to draw,
He drew pictures that nobody saw.
He was most artistic late at night,
In the bathroom,
Out of sight.
He kept a secret that no one knew,
He didn't tell a soul,
And his gallery grew.
His drawing were different,
No paper or pen,
But needed a bandage now and again.
We stood by the river under the stars,
He rolled up his sleeves and showed me the scars.
He felt embarrassed and looked down at his shoe,
Then I rolled up my sleeves and whispered,
"I draw too"
~Anonymous~
YOU ARE READING
Sad Poems
Poetrya variety of losses, regrets, and depression wrapped into a mess of a poem book started: 04.29.15 completed: 06.24.19 a book that has existed almost as long as I have on here. thank you for giving my story a chance (my apologies if some are really c...