She wants to know me, Whisper secrets down my throat. But like so many before.. I don’t see her name, but, I know everything about her. I discern her independent thoughts Her politely rebellious acts of defiance, How she shops at thrift stores Wearing old tank-tops to complement her Chanel, Paints her nails black and her index red. I know she says this, but really wants that. I know what makes her toes curl I know what she likes And how she likes it. I read her like an open book, Bold font size 45. She wants to know me, To explore ourselves together. But I recognize her from afar, So how could she ever know me…
i wish i could look past certain things and just be happy. but my artistic eye, the same eye that tells me whether something is tasteful or ney just won't allow me. Won't allow me to appreciate the beauty in each person. Won't allow me to settle.