ෆ::
The flowers look pretty,
My Mom said they look like me.
I never believed, why would I?
It won't make me happy, like how those birds fly.
I chose to hide behind her shadows,
And shut all my doors and windows.
That was one memory I despise to recall,
The memory of my weak downfall.
And then I saw the light from of outside's view,
And decided to reach for the light only seen by few.
There's nothing wrong with me,
Or is there something that I can't see?
Those storms passed by as I breathed heavily,
The smile from ear to ear as I roam the streets freely.
When my Mom asked me to be elegant, I decided not to.
That was one big achievement I did, happy I did not do.
When people chose to destroy you,
They want to see you hide weakly.
But when you choose to see the view,
They'd be down on their knees begging for forgiveness, after you breath from the catastrophe.
::
YOU ARE READING
HER BOOK OF POETRIES
PoetryA compilation of poems that I wrote throughout the days.
