I said
'I'm okay with being mediocre.'
And he asked me why,
So I replied.
I said
'When someone looks at you like
You're close to that of a da Vinci,
You feel like you're framed and
On the wall,
It's like you're part of an exhibition,
And eventually,
Every single spectator,
Moves along to the next piece of art'
I said
'Id rather be loved
On the days where I'd rather
Lay in bed with nothing
But a t-shirt on,
Than be loved only
For the beauty that
Comes with days where
I can be bothered'
g.c.g
YOU ARE READING
The blossom of a poet
PoetryWords fall softly like the petals from a blossom tree, drifting slowly onto the paper, creating poetry like the spring, beautiful and light, but just like the seasons, the poetry changes, the autumn comes and the words become heavy, falling quickly...
