"I spend most of my time stuck in my own little world.
Continuously re-reading the same Charles Dickens novel,
Drinking coffee every morning,
And sleeping until I wake up and find some inspiration for writing,
And there are some days when I ponder of life,
I would be joyful if I could escape out of my world,
And into the real world.
But I can't.
So here I am,
Five sheets of of paper with smudged pen ink lied out on the table.
Me just writing letters to you,
Questioning you about life in the city.
What are the people like?
What do the shops look like?
Is there a larger selection of novels to flip through?
Tell me everything.
Because I'm not leaving my world for the rest of my years.
And I keep waiting for the excitement to arrive,
But it never delivers itself.
Everything is always the same in this small, strange world of mine,
So do me a favor and reply,
Maybe I will take your information and imagine my world like the city.
Because I know for a fact that it is better,
It's better because you are there."
-Anneliese T.
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)
