She always thought about him.
Every waking moment of every single day she thought.
His absolute perfection cherished her heart,
Lavishing her with faultless hugs, kisses, and affection.
She was saturated within the tenderness of his touch,
The desire that convenes within the obscure dimensions of her heart,
Her soul,
Her entity.
The entity that was brightened into a stream of gratitude and indulgence. Emanated from what seemed to be an eternal hell, he was
Salvation.
A deliverance of palliation,
Easing her with his captivating influence,
And relieving her of her poignant past.
She looks at him and his blemishes are blurred.
Admiring his frayed edges and his vial mistakes
They celebrate each other.
Lacking the sour stink of irritability.
Their love drowns in certainty without a single drop of ambivalence.
He heals her with his rigid fingers,
caressing her petite frame.
Reviving her from the depths of her severed self-esteem.
He is her,
Salvation.

They anger her
make fun of her
tease her about her mistakes
Taunting her
Using the past as a weapon
While she looks over her shoulder
She drowns in an abundance of witty smirks and chatter
It swallows her
With no breathe left

They call her selfish
They say she has grown stone cold
Assuming while knowing nothing
Knowing nothing of the ache
Cluttered inside

They don't know she cares
She cares for more than herself
Her selfless heart embodies her mind
Overflowing beyond her limits
She is one who cares

She cares for those who have hurt her
And left her with frayed edges
They severe her trivial existence
She is alone
With only the wounds that fashion her shrivelled soul



She is misunderstood
Only if they knew that she cared

Pretty is what people say you are
It's a status
Pretty is limiting your meals
Limiting yourself to two celery sticks for dinner
Pretty is whether boys like you or not
Pretty is throwing up at the end of the day
Pretty determines who your friends are
Who talks to you
Who looks at you
Who knows you exist
Pretty is what you wear
Pretty is having the spot light
Pretty fathoms your mere existence
Pretty hurts

I find it very strange
how we are all made
from the same elements
formed out of stardust
shaped bones covered in skin
so how come
some girls are pretty

And I'm not

∑  nPk,   ∝ ≫ x! π f (x) ∞ x ≡ φ 3√a N(μ,σ2) <:)


In English:
The sum of the probabilities that your poem will trend is proportional, but greater than the factorial of the constant pi, when the function of x is leminscate (infinity), and when the value of the x variable is identical to the golden ratio constant, or when the cubed root of the normal distribution of love.

Finally,
finally
finds
you well.

It is the word you supply,
when asked
100 times a day

How are you?

How ya doing?

Answer:

Well,
I am well.

for my life, my poetry,
me, all of us,
are trending,
now that I have found,
found and solved,
the formula for
my-piece of the
Normal Distribution
of love

You lack honestly
The mere bluntness I seek
Your shadowed emotions
Hidden, masked
Behind blurred,
Mixed signals

Submerged in frustration
Confusion
Trying to decode
Your thoughts
Your actions
Your words
Do they mean nothing?
Or is there something here?
A small spark to a flame
Growing at a brisk pace
Or perhaps its the end
The end of hope
My hope

You call me
Text me
Hug me
Even kiss me
You tell me how much I mean to you
How much you trust me
Then you stop

Not only do you lack honesty
But you are indecisive
Your emotions shadowed
Trapped, confined
Behind blurred,
Mixed Signals

Sheer shades of red
Sitting tightly on my hip
Enhancing my perfections
And disguising my flaws
An illusion of lucent confidence
In my own skin
Feeling your heated presence
In my midst
You amorously gaze
At your Aphrodite
Your muse
Glowing like ember
Creating a lustful aura
Surrounding us both
Those sheer shades of red
Are a wonder to us all