Maybe I’m not beautiful, from all the tears I’ve cried. They wonder if I’ve gone off, left, died. What you see is not always true. You have to look deep inside to find what’s really there. There’s dark clouds that hang over me. I try to hide it, but for some reason it’s plain to see. I have demons, dark stories from my past. Skeletons in my closet, but I try not to look back. So next time you look you’ll know something’s there. Maybe I won’t tell you. Some secrets I’ll never share.
One of the first poems I wrote that I was proud of. Hope you like! Xoxo