broken bikes

of ruins

you are a beautiful thing

whole,

and intelligent,

and emotional,

oh, so emotional

and bright,

and hilarious,

and admirable,

so very admirable

but you look in the mirror,

your real eyes clashing with reflected ones,

and your lips sink

because you do not see

that you are whole

and intelligent and emotional

oh, so emotional

and bright and hilarious and admirable

so very admirable

you see your wittled heart,

your chipped confidence,

your shaky pride,

your quivering dignity,

your deteriorating curiosity,

your minuscule flaws,

so, so minuscule,

and your breath hitches in your throat

because you see that you are ruined

this world that seemed so intriguing

has seeped into you like poison,

stolen your hopes and aspirations,

and replaced them with a sickening

dread

fear deafens the excitement,

disbelief suffocates the creativity,

judgment halts the originality,

conformity devours the individualism

you are a beautiful thing,

but like all beautiful things,

you have been scarred,

oh, so very scarred,

and now those scars eat up your appearance,

blind you to your potential,

you become your flaws,

you live in your pitfalls,

you depend on your facades

but you are not ruined

you are still whole,

even with a wittled heart

and you are still intelligent,

even with disbelief coloring your ideas

and you are still emotional,

oh so emotional,

even with judgment rankling in your bones

you are a beautiful thing