girl, you don't know what you're talking about
you don't know
i would kill for him
for his mind is sharp as a knife
for his killer hands
ice shard eyes
when i lie in my bed i feel a love that is like anger
i want him, i need him
i need his big hands, slender shoulders
lopside laugh and red shirt
well, how dare you
don't touch him, touch me instead
kiss me, but keep your petty eyes off my baby
dusk falls, but my fire is slowly, slowly growing
don't you dare spit on it
YOU ARE READING
nymphet poetry
Poetrypoems about my life as a nymphet -questioning a brain that was hardwired a little differently- TW: substance abuse
