sometimes I wish I could look into that pretty little head of yours.
'cause your eyes seem to carry a lot on your eyelids as they're shining,
twitching and widening in mines
they show me your splendor,
it's fascinating.
but they can't translate it to me.
so just a little tour in there,
I'll walk around in the rooms of the house
and see where everything is clean and perfect,
where you store the wine or your clothes,
which rooms are tidy
and which aren't.
which ones have fragrant air of flowers you water every day,
and candles you lit and blow every night,
and which ones have clothes scattered on the floor
as well as scribbled and scrunched paper
worn shoes on the carpet that walked who knows where and collected a lot of mud.
i won't touch anything, I promise.
I'll just wander around
and only if you want me to,
only if you ask me to,
I'll open the windows
and let the sunlight in.
YOU ARE READING
notes app of a teenage girl
PoetryI depend on words and commas: a sleepy french toast and my lover's perfect flaws. a collection of poems, songs, thoughts, stories, and made-up scenarios of an Italian queer teenage girl who finds comfort in writing. I apologize for any errors, engli...
