Perhaps if I rip off my literal skin, my figurative skin will soften up enough to let you love me.
Because whenever I start to remove my armour I always get kicked in the stomach. As if I didn't already have trouble breathing.
But maybe this time will be different, or maybe it'll suck just as bad as the last time I lifted my helmet.
I guess I'm supposed to get over it though.
So I will keep both skins on and smile to the ghost painting on my face.
YOU ARE READING
Turquoise Sunsets
PoetryA collection of my poetry. Some of them I am actually quite proud of, some of them I just wanted to write. There are a bunch of different styles and topics, and I hope that you enjoy! I will probably update at least once a week if not more. Not all...
