She wanna be ashamed, for her looks is not the same
Her skin is not as fair, not as tan, not glowing, not worthy to be vain
Her nose not pointed, but flat, full of blackheads
And her eyes, puffy, black, and lost, and dead
Her body not so great, her moves is a so-so weird
No one wants to like her, her burnt under the sun
She is the salty sea, everyone wants to dwell on for fun
But run as they get drowned
No one wants a petty face like her
When her body can be compared as the bear
And her palms is full of veins
And from her, nothing is to gain
They didn't know, how she's not fair, how she looks old
For they didn't know how her tears came cold
They didn't want her body, but they didn't know it burn with her sleepless night
Coming from the painful feeling of brining opposite of delight
Oh hear her cries! The girl with broken appearance
Happens to have that for she don't have any chance
Do not mock her face, mock yourself, for you are not running in the same pace
Cause in those sleepless night of her,
No one is to come, no one to repair
And up until now, she waits for someone to pat her scooting hair
YOU ARE READING
One Hundred Fifty
RandomFifty, Fifty, Fifty A writing challenge for myself is to create fifty poems, fifty essays, and fifty one-shot stories, every single prekeng day to make it a hundred and fifty days of honing my skills and giving sparks to my interest. Here's the deal...
