Pretty is on the inside
They say it every time
Like a loop it is iterated
Time after time.
But then why there exists
Love at first sight
Is it a bitter truth or a beautiful lie?
For pretty has always been outside
And Eyes have overruled hearts countless times
Some regrets have then been plastered on our lives sometimes
When sitting alone on a cold winter night
We realize
That pretty is nothing but a deceiving mine
Where instead of gold sometimes we might find dynamites
Blasting the very rocks that define
Our whole meagre life
But let's not be too harsh
For pretty is just a small word
Why are we then using it to define a whole human?
Life is unfair and hard
And it's good to have something pleasing to sight nearby.
YOU ARE READING
Withering petals of my hurting heart
PoetryA collection of poems that I wrote when my whole existence felt like a joke and I felt shackled by my own demons.
