I wake up and see nothing, barren walls and barren skies No stars in sight, no hand to hold The past reminds me of the good memories: the groups of stars in the sky, and the warm arm being wrapped around my shoulders.
By Monica Zhang4 years ago in Poets
You picked out the colorful crayons in the rusty, old stale-smelling box. The reds, the blues, the oranges, the yellows
She wants to change me, she says My weaknesses into strengths My woes into happy smiles A part of me that is imperfect, into something that can be transformed into perfection.
Saturday was the last time I talked to him. I yearned for his light brown hair and dark brown eyes, reaching for me, tempting me to fall into his arms. But, he pushed me away and shook his head at me.
By Monica Zhang4 years ago in Humans