Preacher, Preacher, call me to the stand.

I have some confessions, truth is freedom I am desparate to grab.

When I speak my mind, I find that no one understands me from the inside. 

To many, a spectacle is all that they see, the beautiful, the wise, Brianna D.

I don't know what it is that makes them so inclined to stay.

All I know is, I never feel bad saying "I'm sorry, I don't feel that way."

Not many have the eyes to see that I cannot be had, I must always be free.

But dear Preacher, sir, please do not judge me, while I tell the other half of this story.

A much younger me, at the age of 16 fell under the spell of constellation Aries. 

Like fire he was, tempting desire. 

He made me inspired, my heart never lighter, and the world never brighter. 

Even far apart, we loved with distant hearts.

If I could show him Preacher that I still feel that way

He'd say, again, "maybe, someday".

So Preacher man, all I ask of you, is to ask him to make that someday soon

While I still have spirit to bloom

Because right now it feels cold in every room.

This poem is about: 





Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741