I don't think that much
I just feel the irony in being here
I don't deduct a lot of grieve
I just add the hours of light to being me.
I don't create my surroundings
I just except the illusive dimensions that are
I don't beg for love and compassion
I just offer my heart-unlocking key.
I don't shout so loud
I just whisper convinced I'm not noticed anyway
I don't watch that far ahead
I just see my footsteps fading away in history.
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2017, the 18th, workbench-Wednesday on the lonely Hill. While a feminist bare boob activist learns that there’s nothing to "grab&quo... -
2017, the 24th January. Fortunately, it's workbench Wednesday, and the sawdust maker is ready to go outdoors to make some people happ... -
My head is working overtime, my body can't keep up. That working-class family education will be the reason for my self-respect to be mi...
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