Deception

He was the man that left when I was 3 months

old. Not by choice but by financial needs.

He would always call and I always imagined the

man who I loved and admired standing at a phone

booth surrounded by white powdered snow.

I wasn't far from that the truth, he was

sourrounded by white powder... It just wasnt

snow.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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