7/14/2017 to whatever created meyou couldn’t have made me just a little more gentle? just a little more kind? you couldn’t have made me just a little more than what I am?
I don’t take breath away. people don’t stop dead in their tracks at the sight of me. rooms remain unfazed when I enter. no one lies awake thinking of me, I don’t haunt dreams, words don’t flow from my lips like warm milk and honey and I am certainly not the one you take home to mother. I am nothing special. instead, I am the woman with the rough voice, the one you’d be ashamed to bring home, the one you’re meant to forget. I will never leave you at a loss for words, or make your lungs shrink with a glance. you won’t find me in country sunrises or coastal currents. I am nothing special. instead, you will find me in deserted parking lots, starry eyed and hair barely brushed, but always waiting for you. the feminine magic everyone seems to crave cannot be found within myself, but they will certainly find it in the next woman. Comments are closed.
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