July 2
I thought I'd never write again
I thought many things
but never did I think I would be so young motherless,
life is a mess
what is everything worth when you're born to die?
Paying your bills until you're old then cry
about not being able to live,
asking yourself why.
But the truth is in all its irony
no one ever asks to be born
love and loss are the only true things we endure
because in your life those are the only things pure
Copyright © Sarah Casey | Year Posted 2020
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment