Azmira Winterstone (3/3/97 / galsburg, IL.)
Scars and darkness in a small corner on a little frightened girl with a torn wing. She felt uncared for and unwanted. She felt like she didn't belong and like everyone hated her and like no one understood her or what she had been through. The only person who truly cared for her was the one she loved and protected as her lover. She didn't know what to do or who to run to for safety and comfort that wouldn't just be one person to guard her. So she stays in the corner with no one to hold her as she cried, as she bled. As she was alone.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.