by Gilly Wigley
our shoes telling secrets huddled up by the door,
as walls sitting an awkward distance away scream
"secrets don't make friends!" to anything willing to listen.
but you'd hate me if I told you my secrets.
but not hate in it's truest form.
like I hate the way you stare,
it makes it hard for me to grasp the fact that you'll never feel the same.
like the 21 facial expressions I keep hidden in a box,
for the sol purpose of playing dress up at 2Am on a friday night.
and what does that make you may ask?
that makes 78 bottles left to count off the wall.
Posted on 10/06/2011
Copyright © 2019 Gilly Wigley
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 10/08/11 at 04:55 PM|
Clever update or at least adaptation of that old bar song. I especially like this Line: like the 21 facial expressions I keep hidden in a box,
|Posted by A. Reed on 10/09/11 at 01:54 PM|
I second Dawn. Very clever,
|Posted by Lori Blair on 10/11/11 at 11:59 PM|
If shoes do tell so much I wonder what my skinny jeans are saying in my closet? lol..very nice work..it so made me smile! Thanks
|Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 12/27/12 at 01:15 PM|
secrets don't make friends with anyone willing to listen. isn't that just a splendid line?
|Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 11/11/14 at 02:37 PM|
congratulations on POTD.