You tell me you can't love me,
because you feel like a piece of sandpaper
and you're too afraid to hurt me.
But I don't think you've noticed
that I am made up of broken glass pieces
and you are just what I need
to smooth out my own edges.
YOU ARE READING
This Book is Probably About You.
PoetryHis eyes are the perfect poem, i'll spend forever trying to write. On an endless search for adjectives, to capture them just right. I could try to write their meaning, but I think you'd fail to understand. 'Cause nothing quite that beautiful could b...
