i dont always understand her. but shes art, she isnt meant to be understood. shes meant to be admired for her beauty and depth. shes got a mind like an art exhibit, you dont know where to start exactly, but youve tot tp take it all in and appreciate it while you have the chance.
she tells me im an artist, yet the closest ive been to a masterpiece is when im touching her. it isnt just her looks, she doesnt just look like art- shes art in a whole. better than any Picasso, Michael-Angelo, or Van Gogh.
there is nothing quite like her, and shes all mine to explore.
YOU ARE READING
everything is (not) okay
Poetrya collection of short poems and stories written by the fingertips of the most heartbroken soul trying to mend itself through words and painfully sad poetry.
