The moments mark our memories like numbers on the pages.
As the minutes spin to paragraphs with different chapters as different ages,
we live the story that we are writing.
But out of fear we are biting
our tongues for what people will think of us.
We've all read things we oughtn't discuss.
Though we see it in the mirror we never believe
our own reflection. That way we can deceive
ourselves into thinking we are holier than thou.
Living lives of fiction so that we can somehow
think we won't burn.
Will we learn?
How can we accept other people if we can't accept ourselves?
To truly live our lives as we see fit
and have others read the book we've writ.
Ooo, I really like this one too. The rhyme scheme fit with the subject extremely well. (That makes sense to me at least, lol.)
Keep writing =D