The strange woman looked at me,
She tilted her head.
And in that moment,
She was Little Miss Dead.
The strange woman sighed,
Like she was stuck in her mind.
And at that instant,
She was Little Miss Blind.
The strange woman laughed,
Like she knew what I didn't,
And at that second,
She was Little Miss Hidden.
The strange woman cried,
Like she knew she looked mad,
And then she realised
That she was Little Miss Sad.
The strange woman stood,
As smooth as the ocean.
She then shook my hand and said,
"I'm Little Miss Emotion."
a/n: this is loosely based upon a dream i had and wrote down years ago, which i recently decided to turn into a poem. it's a metaphor for the fact that we can go through so many different emotions in one sitting.
in the dream, i was sat across an odd young woman in a café, talking about weather or taxes or whatever normal people discuss, and each conversation topic was soaked with a different emotion. when we introduced ourselves, she sounded bored. when he discussed our own selves, she was blind to herself and made herself someone she wasn't. when we talked about our education, she refused to share many things because she didn't want me knowing what she did. when she realised what she must've looked like, she got confused at herself, which led to a depressive state. when she left, she explained that she was the living embodiment of my emotions and that i was really just a wreck inside. it's pretty complicated, but i found it so fascinating (: think on it, and let me know what you think in the comments. xx
(i did say that it's LOOSELY based on the dream, so a few things are a bit different in the actual poem)
~blink-184~
YOU ARE READING
A Little Thing Called Death
Poetryi won't explain many of these. they are for you to work out and they'll probably mean something different to everyone. (i own these poems) ((FINISHED.))
