I question the concept of love.
Not the love of family,
But hopelessly devoted love.
The kind I dreamt of as a kid.
Because romance seems to me,
Like the one thing that shouldn't change as you age.
I should be welcomed to the kind of love Cinderella had,
It only seems fair,
Even if I'm not the fairest of them all.
Why am I stuck in this world of reality where fairytales are the metaphor for irrationality?
The world in which the beast will leave me imprisoned,
Where love ceases to exist.
belle
YOU ARE READING
The Poems I Wrote In My Leather Journal
PoésieJust a place for me to share the poems I write inside of my leather journals. Let's read together... If you want to share any experience you have dealt with that made you feel less than who you are please message me. You should never have to deal w...
