Learn more about other poetry terms
Dear Mom, Most the time dad was not home So you were the one who raised me I almost put you through so much pain I could never tell you to your face
The drawer squeaks as I open it up covered in cob webs and dust as I peer inside to see what it holds Pens and pencils, barely used too yet seem worn, so they're tossed the action seemed long overdue
Moving Forward Yes, life can be hard And the world can be cold. At times you have nothing, Not a hand to hold. But we must look to the future, And the past behind.
I need a release to find some peace Take me away with your grace To find some peace in this space Calm the raging war in my mind Close those doors in the sky. You're making my plans with such demand
I refuse to allow my past to define me, I am not my Diabetes. I am not my Anemia. I am not my Thyroditis, or my Hoshimotos Disease. I am not the chronic illnesses that plauged my past.
What was I to her, or she to me; I only wanted less, you only wanted more: The rips and burns that Destroyed and obliterated Anything that I could’ve, Anything that you would’ve,