Been yanking on his face hairs since she was a wee little babe
Every day was a repeat of the last, and he loved every minute of it
And yet, one day she decided she was too old to do it anymore
Reaching for his own face hairs, he gave them a tug
Damn that hurt. It just wasn’t the same.
Doomed to repeat the same mistake
Anton kept pushing his boulder up his hill
Fountain pen on paper, he began the poem once again
Though he might be insane, tonight he might have a new outcome
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Stories and photos from Scotland
A paper-cut survivor
Abdi Mohammed
The Art of Prose and Poetry
self-publishing
Sarah Torribio and her right brain. Music. Musings. Writing. Style.
We Survived and Arrived - Now as Warriors We Thrive
With previous posting of "Our World" on Blogger
Sharing is Learning
AUTHOR
Random Stuff I Think You'll Like
Things I love, typically with people I love. Will likely be hiking, baking, and doing other things that make me happy.
The Official Home of Rolli - Author, Cartoonist and Songwriter
Never Short On Words 