A vase, such beauty it holds, yet your eyes wander to what’s cracked and old
A rose on top that shines so brightly, still you look at everything brown and rotten screaming it’s unsightly
This mirror, or a sea of disapprovements written with blood and tears, scribbled out of fear
Like this we long for love, like forlorn souls we search for beauty.
Like this our bodies disappear and what is left are eyes, hungry or cruel.
Either way both empty inside.
We become lost in familiar faces, faces who forgot their natural forms. Faces desperate to be more.
We cry togheter forgetting the power that we hold, forgetting who it was that defined beauty.
Recived and given, not once just had.
Love is not found amongs the stars, but in the air that we breathe!
You won't find enough from him, her or even me.
So ask yourself is this the life that you want to lead?
What is life if not subjective?
If not in the eyes of the beholder
What is beauty if not chosen by oneself?
If not unsettled, not uniqe?
What defines my very soul?
Is it my body or is it more?
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Author:
Jasmine (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 31st, 2023 07:33
- Comment from author about the poem: Beauty standars are in no way realistic, yet we all become obsessed. We forget to enjoy life as it is, as we are. This is a reminder that you can chose how you view yourself. You can chose to love yourself either way.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
Offline)
Comments1
Its so so so beautiful...a well writtten one indeed
thank you! that totally made my day (:
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