She wasn't beautiful by society's standards.
Her teeth weren't perfectly aligned;
Her hair was tied up in a messy bun,
Held in place by a color pencil.
Freckles decorated her skin
Like the way the stars decorated the sky.
But her smile made my heart skip a beat.
Each freckle was a kiss from the sun,
And she smelled of vanilla and the rain.
Maybe she wasn't even pretty,
But she was like a piece of art;
And art isn't supposed to be pretty,
It's supposed to make you feel something.
And she did exactly that.
YOU ARE READING
The Chaos
PoetryWelcome to the chaos of my mind. A collection of original poems by me. "A poet is, before anything else, a person who is passionately in love with language." -W.H. Auden "That was her gift, she filled you with words you didn't k...
