She slays every outfit
Every colour
Every style
But when it comes to attraction
She's about as bright as the dull winter night sky
She looks fly
She knows it
She tries not to fret
It's OK
She said
Someday it will be my day
That day seems non-existent
Burrowed deep below infinite strands of hay
Her exterior as strong as weak metal; dent
She remains tred upon
like some mat sucking up all the con
She's so very fond
Of a beautiful pond
It being clear outside
But mucky and soon it will hide.
-
a/n: try figure out what the "pond" symbolizes.
YOU ARE READING
s̶i̶l̶e̶n̶c̶e̶d̶, spoken © | ✔️
PoesíaCopyright © All rights reserved. By Kingsley Summer. ~ Don't you just wish our world was filled with more honest beings? Honesty is something more or less of us lack. We freely speak the words in our minds, but aloud we are silent. There seems to be...
