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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