Virgo

Astrologists were wrong when they said I never show my emotions. I've always been the outcast and the crybaby of the family but poetry is my devotion. I don't care who knows or finds out about my secret love. My emotions can't set me free from this cage like the whitest dove. Should I keep going or stop my writing motion? God was wrong when he sent me to be born on September Eleventh. I'm nothing like a Virgo, please just call me an Amaranth. War, love, and hate describe me on any given day. When I look at her, the war ends and I'm tempted to stay. In my mind I'm another ordinary kid that arrived the umpteenth.