Those marks con your wrist are the mark of the world and there is and océano with wich can be cured, must be very confusinf, finding love in the blood you bleed. The truth is that everyone males mistakes, but not us, is the world hate us, but every day i'm stronger than i was yesterday, tears un tour ejes are the productos of tour suffering, but remember the day that you were born, you're here for something, i know you'll say "its difficult to be me" But you're beautiful as you were yesterday.
YOU ARE READING
Diary of a Poet
PoetryHere are my poems. Usually are about my feelings. This is a English versión. I hope you can understand me, if you can't please tell me.
