Would it be the alcohol speaking to myself to declare
or the real true me seeking, to whichever one would be my true scare?
How I learned what to be
or how not to be
from a sinner’s hold on a saintly heart.
All of me made of my mom and dad’s DNA parts.
Tears well in my eyes, feelings tunneling deep in Carolina red clay
or stay on the surface in Philly’s streets of asphalt.
Why do I crave not letting love get the better of me, and how much of it is my fault?
But the blaming makes me feel the gripping of wanting to be vulnerable
giving into the agony or freedom of love.
Sobering truth will be bliss
because I’ll experience all that I have missed.
By Pamelap
Your Plate or Mine 
This is sick! There’s such a freedom in your writing. You speak in a way I couldn’t even think to put word together. I really enjoyed this
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Thank you so much 🙏🏽 I
That means so much to me! This one touched my heart, as I miss my mom and dad very much, they both were very supportive of my writing. ✨💖
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