In romance novels
the girl meets the guy
casually.
She isn't perfect,
but he loves her anyway.
He thinks she is perfect.
But the thing is,
that is so fake.
So fucking fake it hurts.
I see all these couples
in the halls,
all the pretty girls...
And then there is just me.
Nothing special.
Invisible.
YOU ARE READING
you killed my flower
Poesíai hate the way your eyes can manipulate me. poems about his eyes and other things.
