When I feel like hiding the true me
And act the way I was told
I think of the sinners I often see
And how they're made of the purest gold
The girl who sins by hating
On herself and her taught ways
Was told to never be waiting
For someone to see her loving gaze
The guy whose sin is in his rage
The one he taught from dad
Can't see the maturity he has for his age
Even when he's often mad
The little kid who sins by cussing
Has eyes more pure than all
They say he's too young to be discussing
All things that make him feel small
All these so-called sinners
Are more human than most saints
Living life as quiet winners
Without any complaints
So a sinner is what I aim to be
I guess I have no choice
But to stay true to the purest me
And to use my held in voice
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my darkest hours | poems
PoetrySelf-written poetry that gives an insight on what goes through someone's head when they are at their lowest. ''I sit still in the prime of my darkest hours While my presence seems calm and serene The happiness of my personality overpowers And leav...
