But then again-
Maybe I'm not all that broken.
I'm gentle, soft, and kind.
People mold me, like unbaked clay. But they never really break me.
Some people come around just long enough to smooth me out. Then they leave, and new dents appear. Some use carving tools, they take chunks of me.
But then someone adds on.
See-
I'm this glob of different clays. Red, gray, and brown. All marbled, and jumbled together to make one.
I'm not broken, just unique. So, instead of finding someone to fix me, I just need someone to understand me and all my jumbled colors.
YOU ARE READING
Deep Thoughts
PoetryWhen the sun sets and they can't see me, can they hear me? * * || "Poetry" by an invisible girl. || * * * Highest Ranks: #6 in poetry [8/26/20] #11 in poetry [3/10/17] #10 in poems [12/23/2022] * * *Art posted in this book is drawn by me, they shou...
