I keep my old poems
In a drawer next to my bed
Filed away for more than a decade
Destined to never be read
The paper’s creased
Crumpled and torn
Filled with words of love
Rage, regret and scorn
The angst and anguish
Of a teenage mind
Writing the only escape
It could ever find
And I sit here now
Reading my poems from what I thought was my past
The ink is faded, smudged and blurred
But every line, every word
Is as real today as it ever was
Each crease, crumple and tear
Is a scar I’ll always bear
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True feelings stand the test of time. Loved it.
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Indeed they do. Thank you
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