May I introduce myself:
My heart doesn’t
exist, someone threw
a brick at it and it
suddenly was crushed.
Not even hope can come
from Pandora’s box.
My heart must be
that common carpet
that is always trashed
after so long.
Sometimes crying
can’t mask someone
who’s broken.
They won’t like how
soon they
will be longing to know
the old kid with a
smile plastered on her
face.
Let her cry, is
what everyone
says, but I say
hold it in ’til
later.
. . . The hurt can’t
say much, when
they’re hurt.
Grade: 11