Will I ever get control of my life? Will I always be shoved back and pushed around by those I trust?
After all, how often do we get a second chance?
I'm listening to someone give up. Someone I knew—someone I liked. I'm listening... but still, I'm too late.
One little ripple started today could create a typhoon fifteen years from now.
Betrayal. It's one of the worst feelings.
That's what I love about poetry. The more abstract, the better. The stuff where you're not sure what the poet's talking about. You may have an idea, but you can't be sure. Not a hundred percent. Each word, specifically chosen, could have a million different meanings.