You were my muse once,
and I am unapologetic on the art we created
and I wont be apologizing for out fall out.
but now we’ve blocked eachother with pride
but there’s me, wishing, hoping you’d remember the girl who you took home
wishing, hoping you don’t spread out the words of us
how we grew apart, how I’ll miss u when u grow and you hate me when I grow
we were eachothers burden, eachothers problem
you were my sunshine
now we’re in exile
you walk out this town proudly whilst i wish u nothing but the best of it
Exile
I don’t like calling my art poems though much might say so, I never think that my silly little writings are ever good enough to be called “art” I always thought that, that would make actual poets felt invalidated. But if art is whatever the artist thinks is, then I’d like to think that this is art.
nana's corner 