There in the darkest hours of the night lay a girl in her bed awake, upright, all night.
Thinking and dreaming of the perfect one she would smile.
The books that she read were the one's to blame and not her! she'd cry.
They gave her the idea of ideal men, which were nowhere to be found in the land she really in flesh and blood lived in.
She would think of Mr. Darcy, Heathcliff and even oh Mr. Grey! Oh! How bad she craved to have her own someday.
17|1|2018
YOU ARE READING
Poem of Mine
PoesíaFor these words of mine merely are not just ordinary on the paper. Their meaning, every poem, made me laugh or bleed silently. For more or less, it made me feel. ___________ This is a compilation of my thoughts and day-to-day experience as a human i...
