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  • Writer's picturewhit


I like to hide away in my solidarity. I'd love to give all my time to charity. I've got a bit of peculiarity. But I feel full of irregularity.

People say I'm full of maturity. But it feels like dissimilarity, of what is supposed popularity.

And temporarily I'm distracted by the conspiracy that this study is my priority. But I'm not a girl meant for sororities, I'm a girl meant for the curacy of forestry.

This eternity should be full of creativity, but so far it's all dramatic irony and responsibility. It's disharmony of the integrity of my severity. It's complimentary of my artless sincerity.

​And apparently, I'm just inherently a casualty to the captivity of a university.

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