Yet another old, untitled poem.
The pain is searing.
Still my heart is singing.
If this is for your best,
I'm willing to be just your past.
I know we will meet again
Someday--I just don't know when.
So now I can reach past the pain
To hear my heart singing.
About Me
- Liz
- I refer to myself as a small punk child because I'm little, I'm sort of punk, and I have the humor of a 12-year-old (think Diary of a Wimpy Kid). And I put sprinkles on everything. These are my stories
No comments:
Post a Comment