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Not a true story, but isn't it a piece of all of us? This is what writing means- being the things you are not while at the same time being everything you are. Don't judge me, don't judge them.
What is the price we pay for truth and loss?
Submitted:Sep 8, 2007 Reads: 80 Comments: 2 Likes: 0
If I could have been
Every little piece
Your little girl
There is a chance
You could have loved me
But your little girl is out
Drinking beers and shooting pool
Fucking boys and smoking pot
It's not because she wants to
It's just because she can
Your baby girl's got dreams
Ones of moving out and moving on
Of making art and babies;
Leaving boys for men
And throwing out the mini-skirt that reeks
Of sex and sin
Of lesser things.
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Other writing by Josephine Ann So Rarely We Are Contradicted My Eulogy for the World A Circle With a Start and Finish Jane's Goodbye All The Things We Are Classified
Life, Death, Pain, Sad, Poem, Poetry, Hate, Hurt, Depression, Dark, Heart, Sadness, You, Hope, Lost, Suicide, Alone, Broken, Romance, Me, Loss, God, Lonely, Tears, World, Friends, Fear, Time, Abuse, Friendship, Song