I remember when I had a journal,
I could barely put two words together.
I remember the little moth balls,
That made the pages smell.
The other day I went to New Jersey,
All alone and by myself.
On the way, I remembered
I'd left my room key on the shelf.
I came back, terribly worried;
My feelings were in those hands.
'I found it in my underwear drawer,'
She screamed.
'It's not your drawer, it's not your drawer,'
I reminded her.
'It stopped being yours,
The day your chest filled out'.
Author notes
Omg. What nonsense have I written?? Heee!
A contest entry
- Funky Titles by Morrigan Trinity.
450 points, ended June 10, 2007, 24 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Hee. Say anything.
Comments
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Sounds like my mom... How horrifying. (guess it's good to be 18)
Other than that, It's perfect. Thank you for entering. Luck!
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Oops. I meant drawer.
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draw or drawer? I'm slightly confused. I think this may be one of those poems that you write for yourself though. You know, like it doesn't actually make sense to anyone else. It's cute nonetheless.
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