A beautiful newborn baby, a rotting corpse, then a clean, pristine skeleton to be looked at again.
A cute little caterpillar, an avoidable chrysalis, and then a bright, pretty butterfly.
A simple and gorgeous landscape, an ugly, eyesore construction site, before a beautiful house out on the horizon.
I look down at my own bloody hands,
my own little cocoon,
and my own sticks and stones,
and I ask myself: Is all change this hard to look at?
YOU ARE READING
Poems probably
Poetrythe later parts are a lot better than the first ones in my opinion poems and random stuff i want to put on here
