Klensson

Beneath our layers of fashion And hair and pretension Aren't we really the same? Aren't we made up of bone and flesh and DNA? So what's the big deal? Why go and differentiate? Why not simply celebrate That we're actually the same No one else has more fame And our differences are only skin deep So I'm in front of your face now Will you still try to ignore me?

I do not wish to be perfect. Because perfect is without flaw, and to be without flaw, you are boring. Perhaps you will be captivating at first glace, but then there will be no nooks or crannies of a character to delve into, because you are perfect. With no shortcomings, no one will relate to you. When you are perfect, you cannot improve yourself further. You will not be allowed to explore your own self because you know that you are faultless in every detail. When you are perfect, you are boring.

She is disturbed, because he said that he’d come home clean, but no, he just had to come back with blood splattered over his clothes. She is shocked, because he said that he’d be fine, but then toppled over without a sound after grinning at her. She is scared, because he said it’s nothing, but the wound is so big, she doesn’t know if she can heal it. She is tired, because he said its okay, but her energy is sapping rapidly into the hole that doesn’t seem to close. She is determined, because his eyes are half-lidded already, but she cannot stop herself from continuing. She is grieving, because his heart slows and

She thinks that her green eyes are stupid, because the boys that run the streets in the afternoon call her dummy and kitty-cat. She thinks that the world is kinda crazy, and that maybe if she had never been born, the world might have been a slightly better place, if only a little. The prostitute agrees, standing beside her and inhaling the poison gas they call tobacco. The child wrinkles her nose, staring up at the lady and wishing that someday she could be like her, glamorous and having men clamor over you because they think that you’re pretty. The hooker laughs at her, pats her on the head patronizingly and then straightens her post

Once upon a time, a woman had her baby in a cold white room. She held her baby, with hair as black as soot, skin as pale as snow. "This isn't my child." "Nonsense," a nurse replied. "She came from your womb," said another. And although the woman took care of the baby girl and told her all the things that children must hear, she never acknowledged in her heart that she loved her. *** Once upon a time, a couple decided that taking care of their other child was too troublesome, so they left her to her own devices, alone in the world. But unbeknown to them, however, the child was adopted by a family of odds and ends, with a true Father and M