They say the eyes are the window to the soul.. so is it bad that all you see when you look into my eyes is the broken shell of what I once was?

(A short poem I found hidden away from when RH was only 9 years old and it's sad that I knew her back then as this amazing, always optimistic girl who was always always there for anyone who needed a cheering up and somehow that same happy girl wrote these kinds of poems hidden away in a journal. LOL when I was nine I could barely spell my teachers name and was used to writing and rewriting variations of "roses are red violets are blue... I love you" poems. Happy Writing ~BM)

(Front Page 4/25/2018)