They always slam the doors I open.
I will never find a way in.
Maybe I'm not supposed to...
Or maybe they just have hands made of locks.
-s.l
YOU ARE READING
To Who I Am
PoesíaThis is me in words. It's not a story or pages of useless ranting. It's what I feel, what I think in the hours of class only my mind can escape. Because isn't escape what we live for? I just want it to exist somewhere. Here in these parts... Read o...
Closed Doors
They always slam the doors I open.
I will never find a way in.
Maybe I'm not supposed to...
Or maybe they just have hands made of locks.
-s.l
