The art of strength
My heart aches when i carve your pure angel wings, im sat in the dark while my mimicking moth like wings , flinch at your touch.
The art of strenght isnt just surviving.
But accepting, and owning yourself.
You are the exotic pacific ocean
The first drops of rain
So quiet and unalloyed, yet your words scream a beautiful raw collection of passion
The wind sways your hair,
your friend is the man in the moon
The sun, is your companion
And you are your saviour.
That is the true meaning of the art of strenght
