Everyone thinks she's happy.
But she finds herself crying when she's in her room.
Tears fall one by one running down her cheeks,
1,2,3,4...
She cries because she's scared to be all alone.
Scared maybe she already is.
So she cries her heartout.
Cries til her eyes sting
Til she can't cry anymore.
Then she just sits, counting the dots on her tearsoaked pillow
1,2,3,4...
Til she can pull herself together.
Then she stands back up on her feet.
She knows it'll be okay because God's looking over her.
So she heads back into the world,
taking steps toward the door,
1,2,3,4...
Roxy: Now that is a poem. How well you brought out your intent. And that numeric count is so apropos. Well done. Hope you read my Bloom Of Youth. Adeline
i think this one is my favorite, i give this 1 a 10 also
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
great poem, i love the change in line length and rythm, its almost like counting, amazing write.