title is from a long story with my family.
Stop telling me my soul needs something.
Telling me my soul is lonely
crying
lost.
My soul will "find its way",
Maybe my "soul"
is what you made up
so you could blame things on me
and still believe that there was a part,
somewhere inside,
that would
be listening
and conform
to
you.
YOU ARE READING
Acts of Rain ||a collection of poetry|| #Wattys2016
Poezie((Look at how dramatic past me kinda made this description)) //older poems are kinda shit// Same old empty feelings. So I've tried writing poetry now.. Mostly more on the sad side, but I am not you, the reader, and pain and beauty are viewed diff...
