It was her not me…
No one believes me
It was her
It hurts it was her
She takes over like it
Was the stove
Say this
Say that
Do this
Do that
No
She makes me split
Like a whole new
Person
Her favorite color is red
Mine is not she likes wine
And I like to dimes
She’s mature and cold
Im immature and loud…
I’m sorry mom…
I didn’t mean to it was her…
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Author:
Kris.V (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 1st, 2025 05:02
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
- Users favorite of this poem: Poetic Licence
Offline)
Comments2
As a child we see things through different eyes. Nicely written
Sometimes in difficult times emotionally and mentally we align our behaviour to a different part of us, as if it was a different person, especially when looking back to childhood, nicely expressed and written
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