I̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶a̶l̶l̶ ̶ ❝ butterflies and roses ❞

14. don't spend your time finding pain

❝
You listen to bells in the church,
They only strike thrice,
You pick the pen while lunch,
You have the pain to epitomize.

You will write about the little kid,
You will write about his premature burial,
You will write how he will now be happy,
To have his dead grandpa tell him fables.

But who's the real tragedy here,
That kid or you?
He didn't seek happiness in his death,
It's the villain in you.

You can write about the death bells,
But not about the wedding,
You can write about misery
But not about the living.

You see a homeless dog,
You write that he can't see in the fog,
You write how he broke his leg,
You write how stones are pelt.

But what about that night,
When benevolent passersby have him fed,
A pat on his head, a bandage for his leg,
And the free being is happier than the one who is on the leash.

Don't waste your time finding pain,
It's pathetic and really drives you insane,
You talk about the scars and lashes
But not the Phoenix who is born from the ashes.

You talk about heartbreak and headaches,
To commemorate a person who might have forgotten your name?
And push the person who actually loves you,
And make her write poems about pain.

No, the sun can't burn you.
It's away from you for a reason.
No, the moon is not scarred
Not unless you see it's zoomed-in pretty picture.

The scars are definitely not your tattoos,
Of a warrior that you are.
They are ruptured epidermal cells,
It's the job of platelets to heal what they are.

Your tears are not pearls
Because you're not an oyster,
The species is homo sapiens
That's what happens when you write poems in biology class.

Don't get me started with the smoke in your veins,
That map the pain in your chest,
Cigarettes were never romantic,
They are not loving, they are carcinogenic.

No, you don't inhale the acrid fumes
Thinking that oxygen will kill you,
If you remember to put constant of integration every time you think you are not constant,
You'll be able to score better.

And who is cracking your skull,
He isn't a lover if he picks flowers from the grave,
As much as it sounds ethereal,
Your lover is actually a serial killer.

The time you spend looking for things that hurt,
And you mould them into words even if they leave cut,
Try writing three good things about yourself, every day,
Then watch how hard it would be for the pain to steal your happiness away.

I promise your existence is worth the stay.
I truly do.
❞

✩｡:*•.───── ❁ ❁ ─────.•*:｡✩

This is dedicated to me and all the people who hunt for the pain to be embellished in words that don't even know what they mean. I didn't try hard rhyming because meh, I can only rhyme or reason bad stuff.

Also, press that star thingy if you liked this!
Thank you for reading it!