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Camila Jul 2013
Who am I?
I'm a dreamer. I'm hopeful. I'm a bag of bones interconected with emotions, through my veins runs as much excitement as blood.

I am messy hair, small eyes and steady hands and my hair is as wild as me, and my small eyes catch all the  beauty hidden in the corners, and my steady hands become an earthquake when I'm about to be kissed.

I'm in my twenties. I'm a teenager in matters of love and I'm a grandma when taking care of my friends. I'm a beast when it comes to fighting and I'm the weakest when it comes to crying. I feel too much and show too little.

I'm a daughter, a sister and a friend. I'm worried. I'm anxious. I'm happy. I'm a rave as much as I'm a book and coffee. I talk until my voice fades but my mouth is a tomb for secrets.

I'm a writer and a reader. I'm a dancing machine and a shower singer.

I'm raising an eyebrow when I don't believe you. I'm a random kiss on the shoulder when I love you. I'm cafuné when I care for you.

I'm optimistic. I'm cautious. I'm becoming what I always wanted to be. I'm strongheaded and lighthearted. I'm in constant wait for the world to show me this is not it and fairytale endings exist.
Sydney Mar 2014
Hair a spiders web
tangled gently on her sloping neck
her fingers red, and soft, and swollen,
childlike;
as if her fingers quested through frozen snow.
forehead high, and wide, and arched
her cheeks so blushed, her eyes so dark.
hips soft and round,
curved into a shy hunch
of shoulders marked by freckles which drifted
from nose to rib.
her stomach warm, her legs sharp
she graces, stumbling through my confined heart.

— The End —