this isn't happiness.
overtime, you will learn this isn't happiness.
Completed
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SOPHISM OF THE SUN
with you: words are not routines anymore / with you: is where home is / home is where the heart is / a pair of eyes and a turbulent pulse
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for what it's worth
for whatever it's worth, this is for you; this is for me. a collection of prose & poetry and every space in between. copyright © 2020 | avielle n.
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FEBRUARY CHILDREN
my poetry smells like mint and lemon and tells all the white boys to fuck off ©KELLY2017
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of blind heroines and foolish heroes
“i give a fuck. i give a lot of fucks, actually. i'm a prostitute of feelings.”
