Mr.


Sometimes I look at the city that made me
And wonder if all the people
will one day hate me.
Since I have always been that quiet kid,
That is all they know.
But here I am, standing tall
On my own ten toes.
The child who once talked about melancholy memories
Is dead to me.
I lied.
He is deep down inside.
And sometimes
when I get sad
He starts to come alive.
But that is the exact time
I remember how to fight.
Fight back against the darkness that blocks life.
And the noise that blocks the beautiful silence.
Because even though that kid may be dead,
Retro must live on to fight it.
I am Retro.
This is my struggle.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem