I love it....
All is changed, all is different
better in a way,
but not right,
I don't know how to say.
People love me, admire me so much,
people notice me, think about me
I like what they see,
I like what I do
I like what and how I think
I like what I write and with I hang out with
I like how my room changes with me
and so does my appearance.
I adore knowledge and books
I love myself: Narcist first class
I live for what I do and represent:
Then why am I still bleeding in the end?
Reacties op dit gedicht
| The unreachable: | Donderdag, april 22, 2004 20:51 |
| Don't think about the pain, don't paint your world black, just look at the sun, look at your books, the things you love..it will be okay..pls continue, unreachy likes your work! | |
| Ana (stacia): | Woensdag, april 21, 2004 22:44 |
| Perhaps because it's not about what others think and see and how you play your role in the world ... the key is in feelings ... and there aren't any rules there ... Best of luck ! ana |
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Over dit gedicht
| Auteur: April | 
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| Gecontroleerd door: christina | ||
| Gepubliceerd op: 21 april 2004 | ||
| Thema's: | ||