PoetrySad Poems

The Perfect Position

Bright. Dull.
The colors don’t match,
I’m sent to stand again.

Still. Edgy.
Dad wants that perfect pose,
I’ve stayed here for hours.

Good. Bad
I’m shushed,
He says my talks disturb him.

Alive. Dead.
He keeps taking these pictures,
Hoping I show in one.

Why not share?
Tags

Related Articles

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Check Also

Close
Back to top button
error: Content is protected !!
Close
Close