A Poem From My Past

At 16 we're all poets

Moving home recently brought to my attention a note book that i used to take everywhere with me in my first year of college. It holds hastily scribbled philosophy notes, deconstructions of media, drawings, and some poetry. Being only 16 at the time, i was sure that my boyfriend was the love of my life, and was crushed when it ended. I don't feel anything for him anymore, but when i read this poem for the first time in years, i still feel a little of my 16 year old selfs hurt and anger. So here it is!

Flowers in the pouring rain

Thinking of his face again

Vaguely wishing for his death

Dreaming of his final breath

Lost in absent minded prayer

Sure that i could see you there

Broken from the very start

You tore my little world apart

Petals falling from a rose

I watch you in your final throws

Reds and whites that hit the floor

With grace we never had before.

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Moesky profile image

Moesky 6 years ago from Amsterdam

Exactly what it's like being 16. One joy of getting older is learning to understand and cherish our heartaches.

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