Wooden Heart:
A boy is twelve
His life is cold
Almost everyday
He gets scold
He doesn't have friends
He doesn't share
They all hate him
He doesn't care
I saw the boy under a tree
Reading his book
I went to him
And gave him a shook
We talked a bit
And we became friends
Turns out
We're friends til' the end
I asked why everyone hates him
He suddenly looks me in the eyes
They were full of sadness
I felt like I wanted to cry
He told me straight up
That his heart was made of wood
I hugged him tight
While we stood
Instead of thinking it
I say to him instead
"If you have a wooden heart
Why not paint it red?"
DISCLAIMER: If you have seen this by the name of "Keida Momoke," that's me. This is my new side. So please don't say that I copyrighted...
View User's Journal
"The Feelings and Tales Of One's True Poetry"
This journal will be based upon my feelings and my life. You may notice that all of them are poems.
Nothing is worse than dying alone. I'm not afraid to die, but I'm afraid that you won't care for me when I die. So even if I go through hell, I'm going to go through it again. Why? When life gives you darkness, pour tainted blood over it.
User Comments: [1] [add]
User Comments: [1] [add]
Community Member