Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Feb 21
You are the house.They are the doors. They look through the windows of your house you built.The foundation you sealed.The radiant colors painted  inside your heart. Chasing pavements from the high road you took than the road less traveled.  You are the atmosphere. Not the fault in their  stars. You are the sunlight . The moonlight. They are the disconnected constellation that have not been discovered .Yet you are the microphone . The amplifier. The sound . The cord . The voice.  They are the seat. You are the moisture of nutrients. They are deprivation . You are the beams that stiffen up your cheeks to smile. You have yet to forget not to smile . You are the harp but not for their strings . You are not their fiddle . Though you play a beautiful melody of being the best version of yourself.
Written by
   Weeping willow
Please log in to view and add comments on poems