Brutal honesty from a lifelong trauma survivor.
Best friends, the one that shares your necklaces and secrets, knowing they would never tell a soul... Rhyming games, playing pretend
By poeticsurvival5 years ago in Poets
Youngest grand babe, always had a wrinkly hand, to hold at holiday time. Parents started traditions, trying on mom and dad;
The last summer day I spent as a kid, slipped away lazy and almost carefree. Endless bike rides caused skin to be sun-kissed;
Saw my ex’s friend in the park, chasing his son. While the sun radiates, our kids played; like watching ourselves before our mistakes.
“Why don’t you smile more,” said a full grown man, to an adolescent girl. “You have such a pretty face, don’t let your assets go to waste.”
I dream of Mythical Amazon, where we could be truly free. A promised land for the beautiful non-fools, cursed vessels for wise souls,
White skin, black hair, blue eyes, born like snow white; blending in. Uniforms worn, perfect ponytail white kids said I was too pale;
