The mirror shows a twisted grace,
A beauty lost in your own face.
Each flaw becomes a work of art,
A broken, beautiful, torn-apart.
The beauty in the weight you bear,
A silent burden, cold as air.
But through the hate, there's something pure
A fragile beauty you endure.
The beauty burns inside your chest,
A fire that never lets you rest.
And in the ash, you start to see
A haunting, beautiful debris.
In hating self, you find your way,
A strange and brutal beauty stays.
The cracks reflect a darker light
A beauty born from endless night.
YOU ARE READING
Emotions
PoetryAre emotions okay to express? Can I express mine through words or poems?
