You asked me if I craved to be loved. I told you that for the 17 years I've been here I've only ever slept on the right side of the bed just in case someone eventually wants to join me. I don't know how to not be romantic to not see someone as accidentally touching my hand, but instead that they had a yearning to touch my hand. You then tell me I'm good at making something out of nothing. I tell you I got it for my mother she moulded the little crumbs my father gave her and made it into the sun. She is the one I learned all my tricks from. I learned very young that a woman like me may never be loved so I must take the crumbs and I must build something out of it. Otherwise, it's just wasted otherwise, my whole life is wasted. I don't know how to not crave love to not take the drips of water that are falling off his fingertips and act like I'm drowning in it. I can't not make him my sun. He does not know how to make me his moon instead I'll settle for a shooting star just a moment in time and nothing more.
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The live's I've lived
PuisiThis is a collection of poems and pieces of writing. That I have written over the last 2 years of my life. I've never been one to actually live. To take the risk. A lot of the things I have written are about things that have happened in my head. Or...
