Heather Gibson Poems

I was walking outside with an old friend.
It wasn't the kind where she's covered in wrinkles. It wasn't the kind where she was three no this friend she was covered in bruises.

Her father beats her. He would normally torment her till she only wished she were dead.
...

The bright cherrry red color of your car
Reminds me of summers
when we never had to leave each other.
Now, the warm days come to us faster
...