He wrote secrets
On his dirty skin,
But by morning, he wore sleeves
That will make him look clean.
He couldn't even write down his emotions
Because he trusted no one.
Now he couldn't take it anymore,
Mom is insane and dad's gone
So he cried and wrote down his secret again on his skin,
And by morning he wore back his sleeves.
YOU ARE READING
Misunderstood
PoetryYou could hear it all... The sweet rhythm she made with her violin The banging of the stick to the drums The sound that came were hiccups and screams What happened to them.
