Lack of communication leads to unrealistic expectations, makes the heart romanticize the idea of a person, rather than what they truly are.
The truth is
She was just another average teenager
with bad taste in music
who drank three cans of red bull a day because she believed that dreamers never sleep
and when she lit cigarettes in the dark
The glowing fire would paint her golden.
She was nothing but an excerpt of her parents
The same parents she swore she never wanted to be like but when she screamed you could see behind her cutting words were her mother's words.
And when she would look up you 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.
But now as I watch her ride off into the sun set
With the one she truly loves or so she claims
I realize that she's just another human being
I realize that she's like the rest of us
She's not the stars and the moon
Nor my east or west
Definitely not my Sunday rest
She was just another girl with really bad taste in music I thought she were cool because of her purple hair and ripped jeans.
YOU ARE READING
From The Attic (poetry)
PoesíaFrom the attic is a book with thoughts and qoutes and countless poems I've stringed together with the scattered words in my mind. any
