She was a thunderstorm.
Thick thighs and pretty eyes.
Scarred wrists and freckle-studded skin.
She was a thunderstorm.
Galactic bruises and stark white stretch marks.
Crazy coloured hair and anxiety.
She was a thunderstorm.
Wet anger and dry worry.
Cracks in posture and a forced facade.
She was a thunderstorm.
Loud and striking.
She was a thunderstorm and she was beautiful.
YOU ARE READING
The people's poetry series.
RandomThese are bits and pieces about people I know or once knew. Some are ex lovers, some are friends, some are long lost friends, those I never stopped being friends with but lost touch along the way. Each one of these are about someone new and each su...
