I sometimes keep to myself,
asking questions floating in my head.
If books are made of paper,
why does it tear my heart?
If movies are just motion pictures,
why does it stop my world?
If my body is made up of me,
why do I hate it?
If he has his own heart,
why does he have mine?
YOU ARE READING
Rainbow Sky ( A Collection )
PoetryDrabbles and poems of thoughts of people living under the rainbow sky. (c) PurpleMindedGirl
