Tired eyes, From loving you. Cheeks not shiny, From your gentle touch. Hair not flat, From your entwining fingers. But you still think That I'm Beautiful.
Not very long ago, I was a poet; a good poet. My muse, however, was my broken heart. Since my heart has healed...well, my poetry is lacking. Most of these were written in junior high, high school and college, but I feel they are worthy of sharing.
My muses may be silenced, but they are never forgotten. They shaped me into the woman I am today.
0 snaps:
Post a Comment