You're made of scars
Yet you're dragged to be flawless
Your scar is your definition of life
But their definition of life is facade
You against the consensual
Is mundane against god
That being honest about who you are
Will end you up gluttoning your own scars
YOU ARE READING
My Daily Poetry
Puisitrembling hands narrate, whatever the mind paints; reconciling the mess made, created by affection and hate; papers serve as scapegoat, concocting it as remedy; shaping one's story, creating thy poetry.
