SHE

she is poetry 

she has flaws

she is art

she has scars

she is not the colours

but she is the emotion behind them

life not in monotone

but in jolly orange and bad blue bright

she is largely out of their control

not bound in the chains of mankind

but free from the bondage of 

they dread her next move

they fear her complete existence

she is loved by all

but not by her

she wakes up every morning 

to fight the demons within

while the ones outside wait 

she is captivating 

she is mysterious

she is labyrinth 

you would love to get lost in

she is independent

need nobody for she can run her own show

she makes her choices

which often make you turn

she is not the sweetest soul 

you have known

she is firey

she is bitter

she is ice

but she melts to

she is not pretty 

she is not attractive

she won't catch your eyes in your glances

but her aura will draw you 

she does not have stars  in her eyes 

no, the sun doesn't  shine when she smiles 

cuz she is raw 

she is real

she is the truth we hold

                                      pakhi

I am not perfect but I crave perfection to a point it's devastating, it's unhealthy. But slowly I have begun to realise that there is no definition of perfection. Perfection is an expectation set high in the sky by our own minds, which is often perceived by our brain to be our motive.  I am a mess, my laughter does not hold the world no my eyes don't sparkle when I smile but I am happy. I have hundreds of flaws, I have scars deeply rooted within. I carry them around like they are a part of me, and they are, but now a happy part. I like being a royal mess, this mess helps me breathe and the chaos keeps me alive.  I am raw and real and that is the most attractive part of me.  

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