You ask me why I paint reminders on my skin I tell you otherwise I don't know if I'm real.
You hold out your hand and I take it. You give mine a light squeeze and whisper, "Now can you tell that you're real?"
YOU ARE READING
fennen
PoetryNobody prepares you for the confusing struggle of parting ways with who you once were. If you're stubborn like me you'll try and fight it only to realize that you can't hold on to the broken girl that you once were if want to become a strong woman...
