We're not born to be perfect
Without a scratch,
Or a scar
Without slip-ups
Or stupid screw-ups.
Every slip of the tongue
Is seen as an attack
Or an act
Of insanity.
Flowers have rips,
And tears,
With thorns,
And spiky leaves,
Yet
Everyone admires them.
Loved by most,
Accepted by all
Viewed and seen as beautiful.
Yet why are we
Any different?
Everyone has scratches
And scars
We all wish to forget
To cover-up and left unseen.
YOU ARE READING
My Human Experience
PoetryA collection of poetry pieces I've written over the years. I've decided to share some here in case they tickle anyone's interests. Doesn't need to be read in a specific order ~ Mental illness isn't pretty or aesthetic, but writing it out and reading...
