Learn more about other poetry terms
While sitting in a small, dimly-lit coffee shop, my eye is caught by a small decorative pillow sulking in the corner on a long wooden bench.
I remember the screams Of my youngest sister as she tried to sleep. Whose screams Concealed hushed, conspiring whispers. I remember too the leaves that swallowed
Isn't it funny how The ones that have Affection for you Try to or Say they enjoy The same things as you - Storms or Pie or Rock 'n' Roll - And then say They always liked
Hi I'm here to tell you a story A story about me Or you Or him Or her Or those two over there Or the ones walking behind me Hi I'm here to tell you that We are alike I'm here to tell you that blood flows through my veins Sharp objects can
Looking into the mirror The reflection is that of self-realisation A being who has strived
Discrimination comes to all.