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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
was recalling a time spent with an insecure person who used beautiful prose

Submitted: June 08, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 08, 2017





I don’t believe you.

I don’t respect you.

You speak as if you are reciting a script.

I can see right through you.

Your protestations of grandeur are transparent.

You can posture and pose – it makes little difference to me.

Perhaps someone else will absorb your insecurities and cheer you on.

There are not enough compliments in the world to patch up the holes in your spirit.

You are like a ghost ; with hollow words and a vacant soul.

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