I thought I'd known him too well; all those imaginary meetings, made up conversations, sewed grins and painted dreamy eyes.
I thought I'd known him too well; the gentleman who didn't wear suits, the lovely human with lovely grey eyes, the man who untwined my golden braids and told me I looked better with my hair let down.
Oh, how I thought wrong.
How did I let him taint my childhood? How did I let him attack me whenever my pen hits the paper? How did he manage to be the tone in my poems, and the tears that deformed the ink?
How did I let him in that far?
I thought I'd known him, but the tragic truth is that I don't even know myself.
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Limitless Lady
PoetryI'm tired, but I don't know how to be otherwise. I know no moderation. I'm a hurricane, and I know I'm raging. I'm a child, and I'm against ageing. I'm brutal and tender, and all the vast spaces in between. So erase the limits, my fr...
