I hate my parents,
They might look like angels for the outside world,
But in the inside,
They are the real monsters,
The monsters they thought I was scared of under my bed or in the closet at night when I was younger,
I realized,
That I should've feared them,
Not ghost who can't touch or harm me,
Them.
The real monsters.
Because they might be angels on the outside but I am
Invisible
On the outside.
YOU ARE READING
The Art Of Being: Invisible || p o e t r y
PoetryHave you ever wondered what happens in someone's mind? Whenever you passed them in the hallways or just looked at them and smiled? When you notice them sitting alone and walking looking down at the floor? We all seen at least one person always alone...
