goddess complex.

𝑔𝒶𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝑒𝑔𝑜.

i have perfected the art of pretending i never sway in terms of pride.

my hubris is often admired,

my megalomania: an inspiration.

I hide the truth and appear to be this person, i tried.

sometimes i falter and my ego becomes a dried-up shriveled flower,

remnants remain of its power and beauty,

yet all you hear is the echos of what was lost.

scavengers tear at my insides, divine devour.

i want to give them a vague sense of hope that they can be confident,

my deceit comes from a place of tenderness.

ardent admiration for the ones whose flower is dust.

I plant the dead deep in the valley of my ribcage and i sow a soft smile onto my face, my own confidant.