Learn more about other poetry terms

    Walking up sorely and tired,     Not because I was beaten but because I peservered;     Chest high and admired,     Not by others but by myself revered.    Trying to move pass old pains,
Don't ask me how my day went I won't tell you the truth Don't ask me how I'm feeling I'll lie and say "I'm fine how about you?" I cannot trust that you care I don't expect you to
Stuck in the middle: only 15, which makes me one of the youngest in my class, Yet the oldest child in my family.  
He's white and tan and blond smoldering blue eyes He plays baseball, a star jock   She's black, well brown-skinned actually Her hair is jet black and shiny, Shoulder length and gloriously curly
Subscribe to secondpoem