this morning, when i opened both windows in my room, i looked up into your eyes, the sky. as i stretch, my bones cracking a symphony, i cannot help but think about your skin. underneath your clothes, is it golden like mine or pink? Or is it pale like everyone else's? I cannot help but ask myself how my soft and tender tummy would look next to your rippling muscles you have so much fun showing off. Would you laugh or would you tell me I am beautiful ?
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everyday struggles of a fifteen-year-old
Poesíatrash can in which i will be throwing my feelings. This is a safe place and environment for everyone no matter what. You cannot judge me, just like i cannot judge you. My feelings are mine, and the way i react to things is up to my spirit and mysel...
