Does maturity depend on age?
...
her fists clenched tightly, as if to contain the monsters seeping from her skin
the whispers in her head erratic, and cries of imperfection they dinned
the darkness in her eyes could haunt even the brightest
as the weight upon her soul was far from the lightest.
she had seen death and betrayal, evil and sin
each and every memory only adding to her tainted heart within
whereas when she met him, older, supposedly more "mature"
but as she looked at his grin, she was far from sure.
she looked at the thin lines decorating her arms
she looked at him, his skin so free from harm
he glowed, like the start of day
and he never had a negative thing to say
he knew of politics and far off languages; he knew how to love and to care
yet she was also mature, and that's what made her so often scared.
she was afraid of the world; she was wise in its corruption
every happy moment she'd had was ended by an interruption.
while he was pure; he was true
and he also hadn't had a clue
that his maturity couldn't help her, as much as he tried
as she screamed and she sobbed, and somehow the purest tears she cried
into his arms, and somehow as they fell to his skin
they only tainted him.
//i forgot about how i started this for you LogicalCabbage and then i found it while cleaning ^-^//
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Of Sixes and Sevens
Poetryto be of sixes and sevens means to be in a state of confusion and disarray. a collection of poems by a person who has been stuck like this for a while. highest ranking: #411 in Poetry / / all rights reserved. do not reproduce or transmit in any for...
