Your lips are too pink,
eyes too blue,
and hair in too flawless of a quiff for your own good.
My lips are too soft (because I tore them open when biting them),
my voice too quiet to be heard (my thoughts too various and complex to properly be expressed),
and skin too pale (because I was blinded when searching for the sun and it's been made impossible to find because of that).
I stay awake late at the night too often,
cry too much,
love too much too often,
wear too oversized sweaters too often
and hide away too often.
That's the difference between you and I,
you're too desirable for your own good and too perfect for others to believe you're real,
and I'm too much to handle.
YOU ARE READING
Pondering
PoetryI write because emotion spills out of me. This is a collection of my poems and other writing. "My words are tiny pieces of me, each one specially woven just for you. And I will give, and give, and give, and give, until I am nothing and I become your...
