Dec 02, 2009 10:18
Sometimes I think
sometimes the words I'd like get trapped inside
held behind social confines
lines
not to be crossed
She likes to be crossed
She's an estranged tangerine,
dying her hair in flagrant shades of orange
Not trying to stand out,
rather that she thinks
from where she stands
on the edge of where the sunlight hits the water
she's hiding, fitting in somehow
poetry,
bestof,
girls