When we buckle under jewelry / Or stand proudly with battle scars / We are never remembered for as long / As beyond what is comfortable, possible.
Where possibility is defined / By the impossibility of a bright / Polka-dotted coward, who's daring enough to / Both dream and follow through.
Why paper burns without matches, I don't know / But here, in a weakling's paradise / We'll write so one day our words / Will frame our hearts in hyacinth stones.
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THOUGHTLESS │✔️
PoetryThe words The petals On a flower that Thrives by appearance Is only Will merely Be a flimsy Taste of what's inside Why price By the eyes The symmetry Of flawed beauty As though As most Are weighed by Thoughtless ideals For those Four arrows A sma...