She's worth every inch of my words and feelings, and far more, beyond the stuff I can write, she'll be the first poem that my lips will speak when someone asks what's the best one I've ever read, she'll be the way I'll describe breathing, living.
My eyes will forever soften when I hear her name no matter how many years pass by.
Cause she gives beauty to the most cruel world I've faced, myself, my mind, my heart.
Her voice makes everything sound beautiful, no matter if it's the name I've carried and filled with hatred or the stupidest stuff any human being could say.
YOU ARE READING
existence within earth
PoesíaPoetry in words of a mess, written throughout years of my teenage angst that continues. "Shall wisdom and hell be spoken when my ink turns into blood"
