as i lost my grip from the twig,
i began to fall like autumn leaves.
because he thought I was dying,
as my color started decaying.
but as the wind swayed me back and forth,
the ground began to whisper
that I was beautiful,
and every shade of me was incomparable.
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Dark and Beautiful
PoetrySometimes my thoughts and hand bleed so much poetry I can barely stop them from leaking onto the paper. But sometimes, too, my heart bleeds too much blood that I couldn't write poetry anymore.
