Shattered Realities.

I'm The Real Beautiful.

I scribbled into my diary,
"I'm not pretty.
Not at all cheery.
With all these dark circles and freckles,
I'm just like a rose with broken and torn petals.
My existence is more like worthless,
To the world, I'm most probably a surplus.
I'm prolly the worst,
I should just get myself dispersed."

Walking on the pitch dark road,
With my hands stuffed in my pockets,
Passing the closed markets,
With no hint of even sparseness,
I dreaded the darkness,
Felt that the world was so full of harshness.

A little walk all alone,
Suddenly halt me to see a little girl lying on the pavement,
As her head rested on the stone.
As I neared her with a mild step,
She saw me and sat herself on her perfectly imagined bed.
With her messy hair and swollen eyes,
And her body squeezed to a tiny size,
She looked up as she half smiled in affection.

Kneeling near her, I handed her my jacket,
And the money I had in my jeans pocket.
Her eyes had that sudden glow,
And that childish sparkle which caught her face aglow.
Beginning to stand up as I smiled,
She grabbed my hand forcing me to look at her and said,

"You're so beautiful.
So cheery and juvenile.
You helped me,
When no one here even noticed me.
If you ever think the opposite and feel worthless,
Remember with firmness,
That,
The real beauty is on the inside.
The one thing that is always implied.
Your heart and soul are beautiful,
And therefore, you're the real beautiful."

And today, on the first page of my diary,
Written beautifully entirely,
Is that,
"I'm the real beautiful.
Because I know my heart and and soul are beautiful."