My goodness, who are you?
Where did you come from? Where have I seen you?
Your face no longer lingers with a stinging red heat from those little bumps of backed up oil on the surface of your skin. You've discontinued the motion of crossing your arms and pinching at your shirt when you speak. You do not slouch, rather stand straight without that bitter face I once knew.
My goodness, who are you?
How were your travels? Whom have you met?
You no longer make those little lies, that became obvious once that smirk began to rise. You answer each question sharply, quickly, and smartly without hesitation. You smile and laugh full-heartedly in adoration.
My goodness, who are you?
A little poem by me, Dri.
About the Creator
Dri ~
Aspiring poet. Painting the picture of the world as I see it.
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