creative works, Poetry


The world is an ugly place full of scars and open wounds.
A world that seems to beat you to the ground every chance it gets.
And when I was fourteen, this cruel world was really getting to me.
There were days I wanted to stop breathing
There were nights I would beg not to wake up in the morning. There were moments I wanted to see myself bleed

Then I met you.
And you knew this world was ugly. At least, on the outside.
But you refused to believe there was no good left
So you dug deeper and you found beauty
In the paint, carefully spread across canvases.
In the raindrops, fallen softly on flower petals.
In the words typed out and bound into books to create stories for us to read

I strive to be like you.
I want to be the kind of person who can look at dirt and see a garden.
Who can look at my shattered self in the mirror and see the tape binding the broken pieces together again
Because we are made of stars, connected together to form the most beautiful constellations that may be broken apart but will not be broken down.

I know I am broken.
But I refuse to believe there is no good left so I will dig deeper.
And I will find beauty.
In the flaws that make me unique.
In the passion that makes me love just a little too much.
And in the scars, cut just deep enough to create stories,
of who we are,
and who we will become.


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