Hate me tomorrow.
Paint it as your own art.
It will be the moon to the sky
I won't be without the dark.
Wet paper and
smudged hearts without a story.
I'll write one for my sake
for yours, you can have all the glory.
Fake words with all the hand gestures.
Taking with them all but your shadow,
moving with their body.
Leaving my heart and mind to battle.
Hollow and rust that make you whole.
And cold metal hands
with a paper heart
clapping and shaking
as touch loses a part.
Feelings picked and made.
False from your lips to the air
will be yours.
The rest, I don't care.
You wrote on my skin
this map of your half-truths and time.
Water won't wash this away,
so I take the better half as mine.
You're probably bored,
standing over the canvas now.
Only art can believe you,
and I take a bow.
YOU ARE READING
Three by Thirteen
PoetryI finally found my old notebooks and I told someone that I would post my old poems so here are three poems from when I was thirteen. I did cheat a little by fixing a couple of spelling errors and adding punctuation. I won't be adding any more to th...
