You could have called her a figurine, another name for her beauty. She could only move if we had moved her legs for her. Yet crafted from Aphrodite herself - she purposely disfigured; her story was constantly disowned by mothers and real-life stories configured by wannabe fathers. Ignored by brothers and fought with sisters. Her life was perfect in comparison with me. Yet Aphrodite herself could not see her beauty created by we, society. Like a bird without wings, she was forced to watch an endless supply of all the people she wished to be. Despite the way she hated being perfect, what she was doing was all for me.
Those are, after all, the perks of being society.
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Breathe [Collection of Short Stories/Spoken Word]
PoetryCONTENT MAY BE TRIGGERING. Few short stories (and spoken word poetry) about the daily struggle for millions of people around the world. Whether or not you are aware of these problems, one many, unfeasibly cannot fit in our shoes. They know the probl...
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