whatever goes around comes around
it’s a blessing in diguise
a benefit of a doubt
makes you realize the things you’ve done
the nasty nasty glares you’ve sent
the laughs that piecre someone’s heart
and the things you do just to get better
to be better
to be precieved as better
but what goes around comes around
and you’re new season of personality doesn’t erase the things you did
the people you’ve ripped apart
you dont get to be happy
you dont get to have ur perfect fantasy
when you hear your words rang in your ear in someone else’s voice
and now you need to be the bigger person
by being as small as you possibly can
Be better
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 