Hold up

Weak little child,
staring for awhile.
Confused and alone
here lies her bones.
It's a he.
It's a she.

Now just listen to me;
doesn't matter if I'm a girl or a boy,
I'm just a toy,
used by people for cheap laughs.

Bruises on my calves
from when I told them who I wanted to be,
when I broke my mold.
Went with a brand new mold.

Now here sits the kid
eating a stale
week old

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem