I've always known.
Always.
People are so easy to read.
Like a kindergarden book.
A Dr. Seuss story
or
The Polky Little Puppy
or maybe even a
Velveteen Rabbit or two
--But you aren't.
I don't know what you are.
Are you a happy story?
---A fairy tale?
------A midnight terror novel?
I just don't know.
You're an enigma
--A puzzle.
---A mystery.
No matter how many pages I turn.
I can never know.
So I'll keep on reading,
Caught til the end.














Comments
--
Have to fight, cause I know in the end it's worthwhile
--
"She dealt her pretty words like blades
How glittering they shone!-
And every one unbared a nerve,
Or wantoned with a bone."
~Emily Dickinson
...-tries to comment on every single one of the poems-
--
who weeps for these . . ?
weeps for corruption.
I love free verse too. <3
--
"She dealt her pretty words like blades
How glittering they shone!-
And every one unbared a nerve,
Or wantoned with a bone."
~Emily Dickinson
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