She has been living with a veil covering herself.
A limp young lady with no nonsense about no one.
The silence that surrounds her has become her inferior skin.
The pain that she felt has become more than a part of her.
It seems like she's living in the city of drear.
She was her own worst critic.
She has an old self she used to live.
She found happiness in loneliness.
But now, she is a lot better than she was.
Rigid, yet pliant like a bamboo.
—PrettyMira18
Dedicated to: VgCuaresma
YOU ARE READING
A Poetry of Emotions
PoetryIT'S NOT ABOUT WHAT A WRITER SAYS. IT'S ABOUT HOW A WRITER SAYS IT, TO MAKE A READERS UNDERSTAND IT.
