Love poem
Why is it that when the daimonds so called eyes stare at my direction I freeze up? That when I try starting conversation I think of the stupidest rubbish that makes you not want to talk to me? if love is blind, then why is it so good at aiming at my heart directly at the bulls-eye? I guess it's love that's responsible..
poem by Heber Padilla
Added by Poetry Lover
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