RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Dropping lines onto paper, letting them tell the stories I have hidden well for so many years now.
Coming out from hiding, filling books with my life and pain, hoping that maybe someone will read about me and remember to pray for me sometimes.
Blackest nights all bundle up and keep me warm, just not helping me to get through the immortal hurt and suffering.
Sending messages to another world, outside myself, never getting an answer from anyone as I continue to rest in the arms of my God, waiting to be released from this interior hell.
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Comments about this poem (Hidden Self by RoseAnn V. Shawiak )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
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Edgar Allan Poe
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