Countless words either said or
written, doesn't matter anymore.
She breaks through, and I go
crashing to the ground. Countless
times of brused nuckles, and
fakeness. Who am I? God,
how many times have I asked
myself that? This may be another
poem of sadness and self pity I guess
but for some reason I still wrote it.
One day I'm fine, and the next I'm not.
Why? I'm slipping again, and to top
it off away from the things that matter
most. Under my bangs, you can't see
but eyes shine bright with shame, regret,
and accasionally a few tears. I'm not
sure if these are my eyes but
they're apart of me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
everybody does things that they arent proud of, but God is always there. He'll never look down on you or anything like that. He loves you and is here to help you through everything. He'll never leave you or let you down. hes always here and so am i. were both here for you 24/7, no matter what.