What’s my story? It is poetry. It is reading my echo and emulating my mirror, and it is raw and humbling and vulnerable. And terrifying.
You will not please everyone, you answer to you.
This is OUR democracy and there will be no land left, for you to build your wall on. The grass will not be greener because it will be gone.
You attract who you are, not who you want.
You will be grateful for the mess and uncertainty, one day.
I think kissing someone’s fingertips is the most intimate thing a lover can do.
You will want to yell in a world that tells you to whisper.