With my own eyes, I look at myself in disgust for every flaw I can spot, every piece of beauty being judged to its core until it, too, is ugly, and makes me cringe in disgust. When I finally opened my eyes, there was a filter, refusing to let me see the comfort in people's eyes that everyone insists is there but I can't see. All I see is their pupils retracting back into the beautiful color, rolling within their sockets as they look me up and down, carefully picking out my every move and gesture and psycho-analyzing it, as I was told it was called, what I was seeing them all do, until I had been torn apart into such tiny bits that they can't piece me back together to see who I really am; they do this just at a glance.
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Distracting Rhythm - Poetry
PoetryA collection of different kinds of poetry that I write in my free time. I tend to base my more artistic writing, like in this book, off of metaphors and allegories; try to work out the puzzles in each poem. Hope you enjoy!
