This twisting life,
is shaping and forming,
a new me.
Grazing and mourning,
who I used to be.
This girl I've become,
is bright and new,
a kind sort of someone.
I've banished the old me.
She's dead. Can't you see?
YOU ARE READING
The Little Book of Being
PoezjaA poetry anthology on what it truly is to be human ...
