Love youself for who you are.
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Call me the names
the slurs
the words
the out-of-text toe curlers
Don't be shy
take it I can take it
not to
but not too hard
Not to
not too feathery
not to brag but my
Beauty
A misunderstood, hopelessly articulated, constantly changing concept
The true meaning which has died
Buried under social media, magazines, models, makeup
Under designer clothes and fancy cars
An isolated reflection
It is you, exactly you
Clouded by perception
Sensational brown eyes
Wish they were blue
Kinky curls reaching for the sky
Hair refuses to stay straight
Me and my beautiful soul, are bound by our fate. Twisted and roiled together. Destiny seeking. Though it is tattered and torn, filled with dark decaying matter and spotted with aching, cancerous sores; we thrive.
