And suddenly I saw the clouds on their faces as I told them who I loved, as if the fact that I also kissed girls and everyone-in-between, not only boys turned me into the devil they were hiding from under their bedsheets at night.
Was I wrong? Was my love wrong?
Now I realize that I shouldn't feel sorry for what I am able to feel, but being sorry for them for not realising what the term love actually means.
I won't tell them I am sorry for who I am. I will smile and think that I am proud of myself for knowing who I am, at least a tiny bit, and acknowledging this part of the puzzle. And that I am happy that I have the privilege to love whoever I want to love.
YOU ARE READING
you could call it poetry
Poetrypoetry I. just a small collection of poetry, thoughts, excerpts and playlists... they get better after a while ☆ please do not forget to vote if you like it ☆ please do not steal
