Skin and bones, I thought. That's all we could ever be in this world. But there is something in your voice when you asked me if I'm okay, and there definitely was something with the crinkles in your eyes,as you smiled when I nodded to your question. And somehow it simply made 'skin and bones' more than enough. That this 'skin and bones' of mine could be wanted, and maybe loved. Like my skin could occupy space and my bones have mass – that I matter.
YOU ARE READING
Paper & Ink |#Wattys2016|
Poetry"I am the black on white; the ink on paper." A collection of my nightly thoughts and daydreams. Highest rank: #5 in Poetry. Please enjoy reading and find a friend in one of my works. :)
