And some people think it's wrong and that I'm presenting someone that isn't me but I gave
life
to
Peter.
Peter would have stayed my father's dream but I used this name to bring another life-and it's still me.
I am Peter. My father's son. Peter. He lives.
And he's made friends, those friends read his poems and joke and they adore Peter.
And he is me. My other half. Slim Shady's Marshall or The Rock' Dwayne.
He lives in my heart, occupying a 4x4 room in my haunted house. He doesn't live alone, people walk in and out.
He usually just opens his bedroom door when he's called, see he doesn't want them to know that he's just a hologram. His face is not
his
face
And his stories are
fabricated
but they are
her's.
I am she. And...
I am he.
Peter exists, that's a fact.
...
Peter doesn't exist. That's also a fact.
YOU ARE READING
Not Quite, Midnight | poems
Poetry~she sets out to write for herself but casts a line from her ship of lunatics in case there was someone adrift trying to read along.
