My Heart
The one person you want to read your stories
And ponder upon your fury ,doesn't even know you exist.
Why do I dive face first into the social swimming pool only too look like a fool. The stories I tell my heart Is draining like a well. You wouldn't care if I fell, fell face first into the antisocial well. I could tell someone about my sorrow only for them to feel borrowed. A borrowed heart is something earned not bought. For I lay here in misery with my broken heart.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
