Author's Note: Again, I didn't have much to work with when I started to plan this poem. I did spend some time trying to decipher the look on her face during Nevermore. For some reason, she reminded me of Bitter/Resignation. Perhaps that isn't your interpretation, but I digress. Review if you will. I was quite happy with my last reviews. For the first time, a poem series of mine earned over 50 reviews.
Magic Of My Color – Part 8
I can't recall too many days
In my life that were truly pleasant,
Not that it is any surprise to me.
So many people, surrounding me,
Laughing, joking, playing games,
Being that which I am forbidden to be.
They don't know how much I hurt,
Not that they ever asked.
But they aren't perfect,
No one is.
Still,
Would a kind word hurt every once in a while?
But they can't help it,
No one can help it. . .
Such a comfort for me to hear.
They are just too busy
To see my solitary tears.
But what should I expect?
They don't really know me. . .
I doubt they even care
When I'm feeling lost or feeling down.
But it doesn't really matter.
Fate dealt me this hand,
Something that I've learned to understand.
So I'll stay alone, as usual,
Within my cloak of brown.