Posted almost 5 years ago
Seeing the ground,
she walks,
remembering people by shoes,
not faces.
Her body hidden behind sheets of fabric,
her eyes hidden beneath heaps of hair,
complexion hidden by paste and layers of colorful substances,
dark and mysterious.
No one remembers her birth name,
no one ever did.
She got called by names of her peers,
pet names that got stuck and she fell,
then got kicked again when she was down.
(Comment if you feel like it, this is free verse so don't comment on structure please. This is poem 1 of 5.)
It doesn't matter if the glass is half empty or half full.
Be grateful that you have a glass with anything in it.
I loves it and I would love to read the other 4 ghosts
