Poems from sarahoakley0
It’s hard on you my dear,
Always on the move and working fulltime,
Carding young people swimming in beer,
Or choking on the lime.
You look...
We were eight years old, you a month and three days exactly older. It was sincere and green and exciting and, and, and—I had to move away....
That feeling is such a wonderful thing, as you cross go.
You believe anything they say,
even lies, lies, and more lies. Love paints this...
Your mind is ill-equipped
To handle the weight put on it.
There are puddles of neglect
You step knee deep and still stumble.
Others appear...
In the moment in the story,
Between the beginning and the end,
There is a fragment of truth,
The Headmaster refused to amend.
In that...