I rested my tired legs on the metal bar.
Your hat on my head,
Your jacket on my shoulders.
You brushed your fingertips over my hand
And your eyes crinkled when you smiled.
We looked so perfect together,
With our legs touching
Wearing the same coloured jeans.
Finally, I knew what they meant when they told me
"He really likes you."
And I thought to myself,
"Oh fuck, not again."
YOU ARE READING
my secret mistakes • {poetry}
PoetryThe most deeply personal thing I may ever write, from an old soul trapped in a young body. Imagine a window into my life, my unfiltered, strange and unpredictable life. These are the things I am too afraid to tell anyone. So, welcome to my mind.
