They say there's a map in the stars,
that the constellations will reveal who I am.
They say the North Star will guide me home,
that I'll be led there by Peter Pan.
So I spend my nights waiting,
gazing into the deep depths of the night.
I've been screaming out my questions,
hoping the stars will easy my fright.
They say there's a map in the stars,
and that Peter Pan will guide me home.
And yet I have still lost my way,
and I'm here all alone.
YOU ARE READING
Messy Bouquets
Poesía❝She was composed of messy laughs and an elegant soul, of wicked grins and a heart of gold.❞ my themeless thought dump of prose and poems
