Literature
Dove
My heart flutters like a butterfly, wing beats against the prison of my ribs. I have always thought that the heart was like a bird, always longing to fly free.
I have always longed to be free.
It was never an option, though, not for a girl like me. Not for a girl with almond eyes and ropes of mocha hair, skin as smooth and white as china. There was always bound to be a boy who would love me desperately, who would ache to own me completely. Boys lined up every day of my life, vying for attention, cocky and swaggering, whispering in my ear that he was different, he was the one who would set me free.
They were all lying, sweet nowhere-near-tr