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elizabeth-bleuPoems
Whack! Went the whop over my back. She wouldn't stop..... She never stopped. That what made me created my place, A big white room , full of grace. I go there often, now more than ever. Usually , I'm there before she begins the torture Always, I have never done anything wrong. But what she sees in me is the constant love for my Father, A love that never came from me to her But how does one expect love, when only hatred is given out? I loved him before I grew and that was really when she knew That I would never ever love her and so she began the torture. But that's where my big white room comes in, Its never down, unhappy for thin Within a land of mystical creatures, I find joy and non believers. I skip around in the meadow all day, singing of songs that make me happy. I varied for too long before this white room, Now its all I think about So as the days pass by, I sit in my white room one last time. I have never been known to such a place That I believed was the beginning of late, My solace, my haven never to be lost I can't forget the scars that I was glossed..... ....... ................... ......
0
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 9:08 PM UTC
Menta!
Whack! Went the whop over my back. She wouldn't stop..... She never stopped. That what made me created my place, A big white room , full of grace. I go there often, now more than ever. Usually , I'm there before she begins the torture Always, I have never done anything wrong. But what she sees in me is the constant love for my Father, A love that never came from me to her But how does one expect love, when only hatred is given out? I loved him before I grew and that was really when she knew That I would never ever love her and so she began the torture. But that's where my big white room comes in, Its never down, unhappy for thin Within a land of mystical creatures, I find joy and non believers. I skip around in the meadow all day, singing of songs that make me happy. I varied for too long before this white room, Now its all I think about So as the days pass by, I sit in my white room one last time. I have never been known to such a place That I believed was the beginning of late, My solace, my haven never to be lost I can't forget the scars that I was glossed..... ....... ................... ......
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elizabeth-bleu
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 9:08 PM UTC
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