Peter Vorhees


Wrinkled Mind - Poem by Peter Vorhees

He sees me through the crack
I hide myself and turn my back
Why does he continue, I am but just eight
My mind of an intellect and body of an athlete

I eat my broccoli and all my greens
in yet he still comes for me
I open my eyes and look through the magnifying glass above me
All is in order except for three

Three...three...all but three
Not one nor two but three...thats what's wrong with me
To few to see, but to many to leave
But it is just three

We all have three, whether we choose to see
its up to you but I keep breathing


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Poem Submitted: Thursday, May 5, 2011

Poem Edited: Friday, May 6, 2011


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