She didn't like herself. Considered herself one of the world's most fatal flaws. She was blind towards her own beauty that glowed from the cracks in her skin that she wore like armor. Couldn't see just how extraordinary she was. Wouldn't believe the compliments said to her.
"They're simply being kind." She whispered as yet another admirer praised her.
"Who would look at a wreck like me and say kind things?"
She was beautiful. But, not the way one would expect. She was beautiful not by her body, her eyes, her hair.
No.
She was beautiful for the way she spoke made others feel as though anything was possible. She was a piece of unfinished art. A piece that didn't have a home in a gallery. She didn't like herself as artists often don't like their work. Art is not meant to be beautiful. It is meant to make others feel. And by god, did she make others feel.
YOU ARE READING
Of Life and Love
PoetryJust little writings that I come up with. If you'd like me to try and write something for you, feel free to message me.
