We are such beautiful ******* disasters
made up of ink and tears
with pages turned black from our souls
Dissolving ourselves
into every word we carve out
we are disasters
born of the expectations of life
from the world
we so heavily bear on our shoulders
trying to make it
one more minute
one more day
asking the world
if we had achieved their approval
our scars are our battle cry
our ink-stained hands are our war paint
we are
beautiful
*******
disasters
created by a world
who never truly cared
about how we would turn out