Surrender. Return what once was declared to be yours as an amplify. Thickening skin, arched brows both seem to age within its time. Things that have seem to see what others can't portray. They develop as a hidden talent. Both showing that it is here ready to echo into the world. I am... Women. Little things matter, in this case so does she. Her skin peels off the lies and negativity, the backlash slapping her to concrete. Instant bloodshed, Tears seeming as if she isn't good enough. Time of the essence Motioning pictured of full development. Silly ones forget, innocents want to move past as the strong-minded trust no other. Never reflect on the impressed they're the ones praying on irresolute. Arching the brow showing satisfied glory. Yet, they show no emotion to the engraved fragments known as highlights, shadows, a touch of ruby woo. Cleanse each pore. Smearing everlasting touches better than the last. Steam caressing the flesh removing last night's events. The vulnerable key point in sudden realization, all you're left with is reserved skin, and arched brows.
YOU ARE READING
Forbidden Ode. Book One
ChickLitIts a game we once learned as a child to express the things you believe the most. No one never said that being a women in the eyes of others would create chaos of destruction.
