I’ll never be sexy. Wearing next to nothing gets too chilly. Pouting for the camera looks silly and God didn’t bless me with boobies.
Talking of boobs, I guess I’m a little skinny. Curves aren’t something that suits me. No one is ever happy with their bodies, but I guess I’ve come to accept mine’s best dinky.
Learning new things is my passion. But I hate that I can’t remember it all. It frustrates me to forget something I once knew so well
A person besides the emotion
The words that tripped off your tongue in our last conversation.
Writing it all down is my working memory, and I will continue to do so, no matter how heavy.
I’m inspired by creators. Ways of thinking I’d never thought before. We need more dreamers. Knowledge isn’t simply power, it is beauty, and it will forever fascinate me.
My sad past has made me empathetic and bitter in equal measure.
But I don’t regret who I’ve turned out to be.
I am impatient, excitable and quiet, serious and funny, light and dark.
I have no time for stupidity, laziness, apathy, egocentricity or life without spark.
Looking in the mirror, I know sexy is something I’ll never be. Hotness dictated by short skirts and conversational flirts just sounds like hell to me.
But being ordinary is boring.
Being rebellious is trouble.
Being me is not sexy.
And that’s okay.
Because, even if no one else gets it, at least I’m true to me.