My room has stories filled from wall-to-wall.
From the floor to the ceiling.
The vents lead from room to room
I asked them not to tell
I made them promise me not to repeat any stories
Some are good
But a lot are bad.
Too many times the stories turned dark
The laughter and loud conversations I have on the phone might have people fooled
I’ve whispered my woes
The walls and floor and ceiling all listened
Gave me comfort.
The walls are like a hug
The floor is supporting me like no other
The ceiling makes sure I don’t float too high.
I love my room.
The vents keep the promises that some others haven’t been able to keep.
And I thank them for that.
YOU ARE READING
My Poetry
PoetryMost of this is sad, any TW will be at the start of them I'm a 16 y/o just wanting to share some of my poetry with people other than my friends :] (Also feel free to comment any tips and how I could improve on my writing!)
