xxviii • canadian • lesbian
artist, writer & optimist
when the daylight has been smudged from the sky—with aching shades of black and gray—i hear her voice whisper to me—the sweetest sounds
By Xandra Winters3 years ago in Poets
girls like us with vibrant, gold dust hearts, and glitter-coated skin, were groomed to want for nothing, but to preen, to primp—
rose-tipped fingers, and ocean-tinted eyes find a home within my mind — locked away. the stillness — transcendent — devours me.
empty, black-out voids of an emotion not present within her breast i am what i am, but not what she wants: merely a supplement of circumstance,