Poems from bryannanicole
Memories make us who we are. They alter ourselves into who we will be.
But the more bad memories I have I start to wonder who I am becoming...
Black is my skin, me. The first thing one sees when looking at me is black. Not intelligence or beauty, black. Not skill or talent, black....
I can't seem to do anything right. Everything I do is just wrong in some way or another. My room isn't quite clean, but I try to clean I...
To whoever really cares my life is messed up. To whoever wants to know, it's all self-inflicted. To whoever cares to listen my grandmother...
Skateboards and piercings, vintage tees and skater shoes. Skinny jeans in all colors, converse too. Spikes and Mo hawks, different colors...