I think I'm a broken toy. I need to make people learn how to play with me even if I'm not perfect. But how can they know you're broken if the damages are from inside?
In my head?
In my heart?
In my soul?
How can they know how to play with me the right way, the precious way, the delicate way, the slow and sweet innocent way to play, if I can't tell them that I'm broken?
How can they repair me, the people, if I can't do it?
Am I all alone?
Alone...
Alone is scary.
I'm scared.
Please.
VOUS LISEZ
•My own wrecked mind•
Poetry~Des fois ça va, d'autres non.~ Pensées quotidiennes, remises en doute. Poèmes, textes. Ce qui dompte mes pensées sauvages, les retiens en cage. Peu importe la langue, anglais, français, misère, douleur, apaisement ou bonheur.
