Memoirs| Its Pesronal
I would like to think of myself as a faded ink stained school shirt torn under the arm pit type of chic, the one that no matter how many times you wash it the collar still carries the grease deep within, as much as you stand in the sun u know it’s lost its colour reminding you of washed out childhood memories Im still fighting for my sanity so hung up my dirty laundry its nothing they haven’t seen or heard before.
I would like to think of myself as the 5 year old worn out school shoes as black as they come with patches of grey and they half through their sole, no matter how many times you’ve tried to polish them they just don’t shine as bright as they used to, they don’t comfort you as much as they used to, gun down by dust and rocks from day to day so replace me if you must but I can still hold it in as breezy as they are I can still compose myself because I will never be what you are.
Consider me colourless, washed and torn...Consider me timeless and Beautiful












