My tiara imprisons a conspiracy
of holding restrictions beyond
the repercussions of love.
It had always made me breathless,
yet I hugged the solemn whisper
brought by the existence of naught.
The anonymity always offers me companionship.
And now I trailed the path of being
a princess with no specific crown.
I'd rather be classified as a low-grade lady
than be written as a quintessential living turmoil.
Being an unpredictable frail
teaches itself great lesson
through its journey to the throne.
YOU ARE READING
Brain Flakes Poems
PoetryThese poems were genuinely written to unfold the mystery in every stroke of my thoughts and imagination's journey.
