What I loved, you convinced yourself hated.
What I wrote, you have only criticism.
What I wore, you never told me anything in my closet was nice.
My hair, to you it was always messy and in the way.
My skin, you found the little imperfections in my skin and made sure I knew it was there.
Everything about me was wrong in your eyes.
So I convinced myself that I was wrong.
YOU ARE READING
Poems of a Frustrated, Broken, and Hiding Author.
PoetryTake none seriously! I only write these as thoughts but I would greatly appreciate it if you commented! Tell me what you think and let your voice be heard!
