(^^)My book of poems(^^)

The House with a Red Door

Come, for I wish to tell you a secret. A secret I rarely tell others. A secret I rarely tell myself. Come, for I wish to tell you of a house which lies deep within the mountains of my memory.
I wish to tell you of a house with a red door. A house which holds both memories of good and bad. Memories which would make you cry yet laugh at the same time.
A story of a little girl with hair and eyes of brown, who made a life within that house. A girl who felt as if the world rested on the
Tips of her fingers. A feeling in which would soon be stolen
Away by a thief which was called life. Yet, I also wish to tell you of a girl who used to laugh within those walls behind
The red door. A girl who had dreams. dreams of one day
Becoming a chef, as well as many other things. I wish to tell you of a girl who cried enough tears to form a river. I wish
To tell you of a girl who now sits in front of that shimmering
Red door and awaits the day in which she may open it once more after so many years have passed. I wish to tell you
Of a girl who sings a song of scattered memories and
Lost laughs. come, for I wish to tell you a secret. a secret in which I rarely tell others. a secret I rarely tell myself.
Come, for I wish to tell you
That that little girl who waits out side of that shimmering red door is me.