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The morning light shimmered, through the window, lighting up my room. Showing every single speck of dust, like an old attic, that’s never been touch, like my room. I too never been touch left alone, abandon. But when the sun goes down, I’m a new person, no one can see the real me. I have a new personality, new appearance. No one cares what is underneath the dark shadow, like the moon no one knows what it is really like in the day light it’s hidden. But glows at night, like the moon I too are hidden in the day. Afraid of what people might think of me. That’s why I’m like the dust in the day never been touch, and like the moon that glows in the night. Tuesday February 1, 2000 |
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