Poem Hunter
Pockets Of A Child

Pockets Of A Child

Come, take a look, take my soft hand,
Are you ready for what you'll see?
Don't worry, they're only truths,
I'll show you the life of little me.

My pockets are decorated with blood,
Fake smiles and lies.
Now I'll show you my own little world,
No pretense and no disguise.

My heart is laced with broken ribbons,
Where I sewed up the seams,
Of holes formed by broken promises,
Which drained away my dreams.

This is my life in black and white,
My world, for all to see,
The truth behind my wide eyes,
The truth of all that's me.

Come a little closer, dont be afraid
It's a long tragic tale
I shall only inform you of my life.
You wont believe cuz you weren't there.

Don't feel sorry for me.
I know I'll be ok
I can actually tell you when that will be
And that's on my death day.

I silently pull away
And I force a smile
To everyone I meet
Im just some happy child.

There's a dusty box of memories,
Lying underneath my bed.
Moments of happiness and curses
Forever branded in my head.

Im choking back the tears inside,
Can you feel my body shaking,
I grip your hand so hard
Feel the pain of my heart breaking.

Look harder, deeper, passed the lies,
That hide the truth from all.
It's not so easy to assure me that,
Someone could break this fall.

You look toward her fragile eyes,
Can you see the times she smiled?
No, 'cause now they're covered with,
The pockets of a broken child.

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Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep

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