He is made
Of ethereal eyes
Soft spoken words
And fragile skin
I am made
Of tired eyes
Always looking away
Soft spoken words
That no one cares to listen to
Skin that is dry
And burns
I am not him
And I am glad he's not me.
YOU ARE READING
Butterfly
PoetryI'm more into writing stories and fiction, but I thought I'd give poetry a try. This book is an ongoing collection of poems or short phrases I have written throughout this past year, mainly about having hopeless crushes, learning how to grow up, and...
