You are pure beauty but not in society's sense.
You're like a barn on a crisp morning.
A sun set settling over trees.
A wild flower on a dewy morning.
An old building.
A pond.
Not everyone can see this form of beauty but those who do never forget it.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry for The Fucked up
Poetrysomeone once told that I was good at this stuff so I dedicated a whole book to prove them wrong. poems
