Perfection is such an ugly concept.
Fortunately,
Beauty and flawlessness
are not synonyms.
Society twisted its definition though.
Into something hideous.
Something unattainable.
It's meaning has gotten tangled in the words
and lost in our worlds demented web of lies.
Pretty shouldn't have a size
and I'll be the first admit despite my shame
I'm guilty of thinking that
sometimes
before I catch myself
and remind myself
Beauty is not tangible
or even explainable
Beauty
one of the few words
that are not words
but concepts
and one of the few concepts
that are left undefinable.

Tick tock. Tick tock. The sound of a clock, the sound of finger nails on a chalk board adds to the ticking, a sound like rushing air but no breeze enters the chamber and then ringing silence and pitch black darkness cloaks the dim lighting and an atrocious familiar scream issues from below your feet and the lights flicker back on.

How it feels when someone you love is hurting...

and you don't know how bad they were hurting

until it's too late to save them.

Repost if you are one among the few of us who recognizes this feeling.

Just look at what we left shattered in the shadowy night
Just look at the wreckage
we left from the fight
I always like to play with fire you know
You're nothing like the flames I'm used to though
isn't it cold there all alone
where no one's around to hurt you
with no one but your pride there
to help you through
and the favorite of your fears
is my treason
mine's the way
you change your mind like the seasons

Telling someone who is honest enough with you to admit they suffer the pain of feeling eternally unbeautiful that they are being annoying and making you uncomfortable and falsely self-deprecating, vain and attention seeking is like telling someone who is continually being stabbed that their screaming is annoying and making you uncomfortable and they are faking their agony and being overdramatic and attention seeking. Certain pains you just can't see. It doesn't mean they don't hurt and burn and shatter you. There are different kinds of pain. And this one is anguish like no other.

I see It coming just when it's too late
my guard was already down too far
Maybe darkness can't beat the light
but now I know time can dim the stars
you tell me you feel bad
I pretend it's fine
I fake too many smiles
and say I get it too many times

Some things I've seen
I'll never tell
Memories like
A burning hell
Recollections echo
The words still sting
I feel the piercing
Wound they bring
Remember the way
We lost it all
you shoved me off
Then watched me fall
You don't care anymore
Now that we're through
But even with my hatred
I'd still die for you

Tick tick tick
I live in a world a grey
Tick tick tick
I can't breathe I can't breathe
Tick tick tick
Alone. So alone.
Tick tick tick
All my fault all my fault
Tick tick tick
She's could have been dead
Tick tick tick
I could have killed her
Tick tick tick
She's gone because of me
Tick tick tick
Broken shattered bleeding
Tick tick tick
When did I become a murderer
Tick tick tick
The story is nearing its end
Tick tick tick
The story of my twisted mind
Tick tick tick
Tick tick tick tick tick
TICK TICK TICK
TICKTICKTICKTICK TICKTICKTICKTICK
...tick
......tick
.........tick
........
And all that was left was ashes
Because she was the ticking...
...and the ticking...
...was not a clock.

I'm either always second choice
or not even a choice at all
I'm the girl who fights tears during slow songs
at the dances no one ever asks me to go to with them
while my friends go off and dance
in the arms of guys who asked them to
but I never get asked to dance
so I watch silently
because nobody wants to dance with me
I'm the girl who has never looked in the mirror
and felt beautiful
or even pretty
not even half decent
never even average
not even just plain
never felt ugly either
but every. single. time.
I feel hideous
and worthless
and repulsive
and ashamed of my face
and my body
and then I feel ashamed all over again
of my vanity
and pathetic obsession
with being beautiful
with FEELING beautiful
because roses are roses
and weeds are weeds
born a rose, you're a rose
born a ****, well, you're a ****
like me.
and roses will be beautiful
but weeds won't.
End of story.

So I'm writing a fiction novel

Cool, what's It about?

Well, it's set in a dystopian society.

So not very cheerful. Tell me about the society.

There are multiple different governments that disagree with each other, millions die everyday, people are tortured, some people are even killing themselves because of diseases of the mind, sometimes people hurt each other bad enough emotionally they traumatize them. People still judge each other based on things they can't change and your beliefs can get you killed. People shoot other people for no reason and there are always nuclear weapons pointed at each other. Crazy people and worse, some sane people ****** people remorselessly and so many people hate each other.

Sounds awful, what's it called?

Reality.

Every word I write
Every paper I use

I am killing trees

Every word you write
Every paper you use

You are killing trees

Every homework assignment given
Every essay turned in

We are all killing trees

We do it so naturally
A press of a button
A stroke of a pen

Trees are so fragile
Like a life

If we can **** trees so easily
Who says we will think more about destroying anything else
Including each other

So next time you reach for paper
Think of trees
Think of life