Where I'm At

Looking out a dust smeared window,
the outside world runs.

Winter ends,
spring begins,
new birds sing,
fresh flowers blossom,
woman's long adored paradise.

Only one season in a worn house like this,
where the three hundred and sixty five days,
hold the same meaning,
the same protection.

Away from my thick skin of camouflage,
kids with giddy imagination,
perform their own games of life,
acting out town gossip,
and whatever satisfies.

But they can't see the truth written on these walls,
everyone only sees a layer of mystery,
while I'm here with a sheet of misery.

--All Poems by Tia E
Copyrighted

oh yea, this poem wasn't about me. It was just a write.