I long to be loved in the body that I don't possess
My promised vessel that was revoked before my first breath
But I'm told I'll never fit in that skin
A blend of powdery pinks and soft blues
A boy of pastels in a world of harsh dark hues
Voices have called out to me with cursed name
Telling me that I'm doomed
One way, I'm wrong to myself
And another, I'm wrong to them
So how can I ever be right?
How can this world ever be right?
YOU ARE READING
We Became The Mad Men
PoetryI must wash the blood off my hands and the only way is with ink ~ Collection of my poetry.
