My cheeks bones are chiseled in an angular way
Traced by the tears to the point of release.
An imperfect line of symmetry.
It comes to a point where my lips meet,
Creating whispers of ambition for irresistibility.
The crest of my lips create a space
Where I can pronounce my veracities.
Wanting you to want me eagerly.
As I sit in the reflection of my identity,
I try and see where my ends are untied.
I see the reasons they told me
I wasn’t the vision of perfection.
My lines stretch to the farthest length,
And my falsity falls into reality.
I am the beast I have trained to be.
Only fighting myself in hopes of tranquility.
But you, you delightful individual,
I think could see something new.
That the shape of me might be,
Something you grew to know.
That the edge of me in the shadows,
Was a feeling of passion and scarcity.
I felt that the lines of my embodiment
Had grew into lines of delicacy.
But now I am scared reckless,
Because I am not secured in my mind.
That perhaps your devotedness diminished,
and so might have mine.
The path has been swept and there is emptiness.
Doubting every detail of reality.
Grasping at your words of affection,
I am somehow sure no more.
Becca's Poetry 