the creator of this story
would just like to say
how utterly grateful she is:
an amount she can't convey.
to say that a small book of poems
is what she is most proud of
would make her look quite pitiful
but it's the truest thing to be thought of.
before the people who read this
the writer was a small nobody
a cardboard snowflake
trying desperately to be somebody.
but the readers made her feel special
almost like she was needed
so after the first poem she uploaded,
with writing she proceeded.
and more than many hours
of hard work and thought
lie in these pixels
and are not all for nought.
i love you all <3 (:
~blink-184~
YOU ARE READING
A Little Thing Called Death
Poesíai won't explain many of these. they are for you to work out and they'll probably mean something different to everyone. (i own these poems) ((FINISHED.))
