Wattys2106 Histoires

These aren't poems but declarations of the beauty of "her". In the age of ones beauty being stolen from them and claimed as their own it's harder for "her" to stand out of the crowd. "He" kisses her scars which were once wounds. Skin pierced by the bullets that begun as words. "He" watches her bleed the blood of shame - the shame being the existence of herself. "He" stands by "Her" and whispered never ending words to uplift "Her", an ethereal gem