It's her gift,
And she loved it as much as she adored rain.
They formed transparent ,little puddles on paper,
Came without invitations,
Held her while she prayed and danced in the midst of her storm.
She made it seem effortless yet wild,
Although it's a bane to toxic masculinity.
And does it all while her delicate fingers ball into a fist,
Eyelids succumbing to the brightness he smiles it witnessed,
While fragments of her heart lay strewn,
As her tears unravel a gentle stream of calmness within those silent corners.
Till a home is built,
From her act of being human.
-colours and tears-
YOU ARE READING
Her roses were blue
PoetryHey❤...Im a 17-year-old aspiring poet and I hope every single one of you would be able to resonate with the poems in this book. It would really mean a tonne to me if it does. Feel free to leave a comment n do vote... Thank you n lots of love❤❤❤. BTW...
