I'll stare at the glass,
tuck a strand, painfully.
I'll look
into myself,
seeing someone whose not really
there.
Some love me; some hate me,
some spend time describing my faults;
some even-
praise me.
But none of these versions of me are true or
are the same.
So go
fear me, praise me,
detest me, want me.
But truly you have no right,
as you know nothing of me.
YOU ARE READING
Bones
Poetrya poetry anthology of the thoughts, the feelings and the life within us, tangled around our bones.
