No title yet,

I usually write...
about some bloodied knife,
or a happy curl on some little girl,
blonde hair...blue eyes,
but now i know,
what they really hide,
nightmares and dreams,
behind the scarlet sheen,
a mirror of thoughts,
darkend by pain,
never big enough to play in the game...
too short to reach,
for my balloon,
picked on and pushed,
i changed myself...
fiesty and fierce,
pushed around little boys with frowns,
atleast he can see,
both the new and old me.