You were a flower
I was concrete
Yet with each petal plucked
My walls turned into some substance that could be cut with scissors
You were supposed to be paper
A delicate thing that could crumple
I was supposed to be a rock
Forged from the hard and harder
But you weren’t a flower
And I wasn’t concrete
You were the sheet
That covered me
Until I know this sure uncertainty, I'll entertain the offered fallacy.
A world without empathy is black and white. Pause to reflect upon life.
I tell stories here. This is a story of a hopelessly sentimental young woman in love with words, who's silly enough to be hopeful that one day, her words might change the world. Stories matter, stories can change how we perceive our world, so let me tell you a story..
I write.
If you can feel, then you can write
Pouring thoughts onto pages.
Some thoughts need to come out
poetry to heal the heart
