I hear the whispers.
I notice the stares.
I know what people call me.
Broken.
All the see is.
A broken girl.
Hiding her face with her curls.
For.
If they saw her face.
They would see the scars of pain.
But.
No one asks why she cries.
No tries to take the pain away.
All they see are tears.
And washed up makeup.
Maybe.
Ill always be.
Broken.
YOU ARE READING
no regrets just love
Poesíais it possible to have so many mixed emotions at once? is it possible to love someone so much... and not have them love you back.
