she/her, or: please let me love you by miserabel, literature
she/her, or: please let me love you
you're fire but in a calming way; and this makes no sense at all; my metaphors, I feel, are failing to describe what looking at you is like. I watch them, knock at your door, and you say, hello; you seem to have a smile for everyone. I am jealous, sometimes, of people who get to kiss you on park benches; I bet your smile tastes great. maybe one day, I'll get to prove it.
Untitled by Call-me-George, literature
They were such small things, I didn’t even notice Until I looked at myself for the first time in 10 years And couldn’t recognize anything I saw My eyes were the same, yes But they held their passion and rage behind cell bars My lips were still full and pink But cracked and bloody from holding my tongue away from the world My hands had nimble fingers still But they weren’t used for gentle strokes of a pen No, I wasn’t writing masterpieces anymore But my feet My feet were the worst Carrying all the extra weight All my bad choices They couldn’t run, or dance Tender soles, I’ve been wearing shoes My