there is dirt
underneath my fingernails
and monsters under my bed
the lies I tell my mother
seep down under my skin
and flow through my veins
because we
are all made up of our own choices
and I love you, mom
but you just don't understand
b.g
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Memoirs From A Teenage Female
Poetrypieces of my heart from all different months and times. if this makes you feel less alone then I have done what I have set out to do.
