Deception
He was the man that left when I was 3 months
old. Not by choice but by financial needs.
He would always call and I always imagined the
man who I loved and admired standing at a phone
booth surrounded by white powdered snow.
I wasn't far from that the truth, he was
sourrounded by white powder... It just wasnt
snow.
This poem is about:
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: