1:37 pm, Saturday, 10th June
her eyes are clouded over with thoughts that shatter her,
and convince her that she isn't beautiful and the world
would be a better place without her existing within it.
her arms are are healing from severs wherefrom a galaxy was
trying to find a release from the barriers that enclosed it.
her skin is laden in marks that mirror the galaxies
within her, dulling hues of blue and violet.
she wants to claw at herself, and allow her anger
to exert itself in the endless wounding that might grant her a getaway.
little does she know of the beauty that laces the tissues beside her arteries
and the broken hope that flickers with every heartbeat.
she is unaware of how her dark eyes mirror the emotions her soul
struggles to deal with and how they brighten
as she talks about the things she holds dear to her heart.
when she talks of her artwork her lips curve into a smile
so ethereal that it may make flowers grow
and when she paints her delicate fingers move slowly
creating a beauty in the forms of articulate strokes of hue.
she is unaware that she is a walking masterpiece,
dotted in flaws that only add to the humanity that lingers
beneath her skin.
she believes she isn't beautiful,
but I believe that is all that she is
and someday I'm praying she'll see it too.
– to all my readers, you are all beautiful, believe it. Stay hopeful and strong my flowers ❤️🌹
YOU ARE READING
dysphoria
Poetrysilent pleas from a heart that's been tainted blue, a mind that ripples in constant turmoil and a mouth that remains shut //
