If beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
why can't I be the object of your affection?
Why is it that every time I try and form a connection,
you seem to turn your attention to someone else, leaving me broken from these torn red threads of love and affection.
Why is it that your standard of beauty always seems to be the color of brilliant white,
as I stand in the shadows blending in with my skin like a chameleon
Yet again going unnoticed.
Why is it that the color of my skin dictates if I will win this game of love that seems so hopeless as I bleach my skin till I'm bright enough.
Burning as I wait, and wait for you to turn your eyes on to this girl who's on fire!
Waiting for your attention,
waiting for your affection...
If beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
why am I not enough?
Why can't I be light enough to be with you, whom I want so much?
YOU ARE READING
Of Swords And Shields
PoetryIn a way, life can be poetic, every sound smell or look. Everything is poetry, just like the scene of the girl standing amongst the fallen soldiers with a sword and a shield. • a c o l l e c t i o n o f p o e m s•
