"how? how could i possibly be the slightest bit significant? what makes me important? nothing." he whispered, leaning his chin on his knees
he looked so small with his legs pulled to his chest and his arms wrapped around himself
he honestly believed he was worthless
he was so blind to how extraordinary he really was
"did you know...iron can only be made in the cores of dying stars. iron runs through our veins and you, my dear, are made of stardust. if not for every other ethereal thing about you, being part of the stars makes you important."
12/22/18
-not really a poem but yeah
YOU ARE READING
a happy kind of blue
Poetryit's a good kind of madness. a happy kind of blue ~~~ {lowercase intended} ~~~ ~cover by birdiehere~ ~highest ranked at #46 in poetry 5/17/18~
