Virgo
Astrologists were wrong when they said I never show my emotions.
I've always been the outcast and the crybaby of the family but poetry is my devotion.
I don't care who knows or finds out about my secret love.
My emotions can't set me free from this cage like the whitest dove.
Should I keep going or stop my writing motion?
God was wrong when he sent me to be born on September Eleventh.
I'm nothing like a Virgo, please just call me an Amaranth.
War, love, and hate describe me on any given day.
When I look at her, the war ends and I'm tempted to stay.
In my mind I'm another ordinary kid that arrived the umpteenth.
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.
