Dear Community,
When I was eleven years old
I didn't think I'd make it to thirteen
I'd written a letter and hidden it under my pillow
Because I knew that the day I'd leave would sneak up on me
Like the Winter to a Willow tree
But here I am
Thirteen years old
Writing a poem, a story to be told
Two years ago
If I saw who I am
I'd prolly say "Nah, there's not a chance"
I'd go back to my room and turn off the lamp
Close the door and pull the covers up high
But not before blinding my eyes
With a phone flashlight so terrifyingly bright
I'd open a drawer or pillow case
And take out a razer that was there "just in case"
I'd test it on my finger, make sure it was sharp
Then I'd go make lines red and dark
I'd say I regret it, but that would be a lie
Because that's what taught me that not everything's sky high
I learned what I was and who I could be
I'm a human and I'm me
So Community
If you need a laugh
I'll be here
Under an overpass
Waiting to catch unfortunate souls
Who were never taught they are pure gold
Love, Remy
YOU ARE READING
Letters
PoetryA collection of poems written in the form of letters. All poems are original pieces by me, and I reserve the right to use and authorise others to use them.
