Hopeless

I've stopped myself from wishing upon shooting stars,

I don't ever see them

from praying every night for countless pleas unheard,

nothing ever happens

or willing the stray dandelions for a chance,

I only end up with

this broken scattered breaths of loneliness, shedding

light to my wound-up state

leaving me bare to the tragic tale of a world

who looks at prices and

not at beaten down souls or terrifying truths

who looks at measured scales

instead of the sun that shines and silver linings

who looks at gaps between

limbs and legs, untangled and resolute on that

size zero dress, the weight

and the lost, the attention and acceptance of

humans, people who will

nod and appraise to all these insignificant

entities, an unjust

society applauding these norms and constant

traditions - forces of

changing generations, pressures of influence

the ideas seeping

into fragile minds, allowing these fallacies

to drown the brighter truth

that people may be armed with insouciance or

beaming smiles, assuring

words and long sleeved sweaters, fragrant perfumes and all

these facades but in the

end, what remains is the etched up scars, left alone,

unnoticed, invisible

and growing, yet a lost person only seeks sweet

promises of better

tomorrows; a hope sprung from a garden full of

wilting flowers, forlorn

I've long stopped from believing in whispered dreams but

fallen eyelash, I w i s h . . .