the second girl
he gazed upon
without knowing
about our bondwash it all away
on a stormy night
I said to my head
to see the lightthe light peeking
through my thoughts
turned into a mess
to cloud it allto hear someone
else's story
to see yourself
in their bodyto know their shadow
they have to jump over
but since theirs is a story
only I stay lowerwatching others achieve
the solutions
to not only their
but also my problemsand they think
badly of my ache
because it's filthy
if it isn't glorified by themby them who tell
the story as if
the villain is the hero
where it's fine to filthwhen someone else
tells your story
you'll change into
either bad or glorythe second girl
her dirt was pretty
if mine got out
I'd get called needy
YOU ARE READING
Talking heart
PoesiaTransferring my thoughts in form of poetry. To understand myself, probably, maybe.