Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 2016
It was never once a question
Of whether or not she loved me
. . .  Though I did question it . . .
Of course she loved me
She loved everyone
Misfits, rejects, broken hearts
Why would I be different?
But in the end,
That was the question
Was I different from everyone else?
And if so,
Why?
She never once gave me an answer
If Someone Were To Write A Poem About Me, This Is What It Would Say.
One Of The Tired Souls
Written by
One Of The Tired Souls  25/F/Colorado
(25/F/Colorado)   
339
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems