22:45

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
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Picture this; a bright sky, frustrated wind, dust and dullness. Your eyes sting as they open. Bare walls, humidity, lights off. You're sitting on your stained carpet, mirroring your reflections every movement through your long and tilted, dusty mirror. Society wrote with makeup across your face, leaving nothing natural, fly away's all through your bunged up hair. A thin bar of sunlight streaming through your blinds onto your face, revealing the stains under your eyes. Purple rain occurs for every woman. You're so sick and tired, but of what? People telling you which path to follow, people judging you for building your own road. So much doubt though the air. Something that's right for something else may not be right for you, whether that thing be a law, a nation, or a gender as well as an individual. Everyone is different. Society is so close to defining us all, but we won't let it. And this is where we are in the world.

Submitted: June 08, 2017

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Submitted: May 24, 2017

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Picture this; a bright sky, frustrated wind, dust and dullness. Your eyes sting as they open. Bare walls, humidity, lights off. You're sitting on your stained carpet, mirroring your reflections every movement through your long and tilted, dusty mirror. Society wrote with makeup across your face, leaving nothing natural, fly away's all through your bunged up hair.

A thin bar of sunlight streaming through your blinds onto your face, revealing the stains under your eyes. Purple rain occurs for every woman. You're so sick and tired, but of what? People telling you which path to follow, people judging you for building your own road. So much doubt though the air. Something that's right for something else may not be right for you, whether that thing be a law, a nation, or a gender as well as an individual. Everyone is different. Society is so close to defining us all, but we won't let it. And this is where we are in the world.


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