Why isn’t sadness beautiful to you?
Why is it only pretty faces and skinny waists?
Why isn’t longing beautiful to you?
Why do you grind people down until they turn into paste?

Why isn’t anger beautiful to you?
Why don’t you love the passion burning in their eyes?
Will you ever get to see the love that they’re too scared to pursue?
Why do you only love what comes with a shiny prize?

It’s only pretty little flowers that you don’t know the meaning of,
It’s only stolen landscapes that you don’t know,
Or that handsome boy in the movie you just saw a screening of.
You just tie up all the “negatives” in a plastic bow.

Staying ignorant, just like usual.
Why can’t I be beautiful?