She was nothing but an excerpt of her parents
The same parents she swore she never wanted to be like but when she screamed I could see behind her cutting words were the tales her mother told her about her father
And when she would look up I could see her fathers distant stares.
The first time I saw her
I knew it was the beginning of sleepless nights and meaningless fights with mom about the cigarette stumps on my window seel.
YOU ARE READING
From The Attic (poetry)
PoesiaFrom the attic is a book with thoughts and qoutes and countless poems I've stringed together with the scattered words in my mind. any
