sometimes i feel like being polite and smart's
my destiny.
sometimes i feel like i, myself are harrasing me.
my room fells empty without any flowers,
like my future grave,
i heard it from a fortune teller.
how can i be good,
in a world full of great?
i just feel so mid,
so fucking tired of my destiny.
YOU ARE READING
poet's not dead
Poetrypoetry written by an anarchist, teenage, lonely girl obsessed with music, books and history. i try to add life into words, mix body, mind and soul into a one thing. because that's what we are. humans. ENGLISH'S NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE, SORRY!!
