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Him
I am small like a child,
wet face pressed
against a massive chest.

His arms crush me gently,
wrap me in a shroud
of sinew and bone

as the smell of bourbon
and musk fills my nostrils.
His breath feathers lightly

across the top of my head;
reassuring whispers
tickle my spine

and tell me
I am not wicked,
I am not a useless, hopeless thing.

I am perfect and flawed.
I am loved.
It is enough.
Krizel Grace Nov 2020
She's written with crimson red blood,
Unceasingly flowing
From her invisible cuts.

Dressed with carefully picked enthralling wordsー
Seemingly fitting, seemingly perfect
But as you read between the lines,
You'll be wrapped with her gloomy wilting vines.

She could either be a riddle
And leave you bewildered,
Or she could be an answer
And shed light upon you.

For she's a sad poem
But beautifully written.

©kg
You may be older by little,
You may not have all the greatest of looks,
Your teeth are as rotten as coal.
You may be skinny as bones....

But to me, i see....

A man with a loving smile,
A man who has deep ocean blue eyes that glow up a room every time you cry,
A man with a heart and soul,
Tender lover.
Innocence.

An imperfect man can seem so strange,
until you see the other side of his world,
where a man so *******, or beast like....
becomes a man you see through your eyes...
that you truly,

love....

I love a beast
-elixir- Aug 2020
The distorted utopia swallows
me in into the bed of ghosted souls
among the thorns of lies that
pile on with twisted smiles
and words of sugar.

The deserted lands that once saw
joy lay parched with fear of pain.
The permanent is the new flaw,
That drives the winds of pleasure away,
as I hide in my shadows.
FLAWED
Mansi Aug 2020
When I was younger
I always thought
My family loved each other
Not unrealistically like in the movies
But more in their humanly
And flawed way

But now that I am older
I wonder if it was love at all
It all feels like an illusion
To cover up the rotten core
Of greed and pride
Kyra Aug 2020
Between the lines
of now and then,
you’re drawing me
with ink and pen.
Every ridge
and every curve
you’re carving out
what I deserve.
Tangled veins
and knotted hair,
a thunderstorm
of senseless care.
Between the breaths
of God and man-
You’re writing me
just as I am.
With fractured bones
and black-hole eyes,
painted purple,
ringed with lies.
All I am
is what you see
and what you make
is all I’ll be.
Lyn-Purcell Jun 2020
Am
Flawed by creation
I am very much human
Please world, accept it
My mind is a riot...
So much I'm thinking about...
So much to make sense of...
I hope the world can be accepting of that fact that we're human and that no one is perfect
Let's embrace it...
Much love
Lyn 💜
Poetic T May 2020
If we were the mirror of our creation
                and not made in perfect silhouettes.

Then we aren't the creation of perfection,
                           as were flawed beyond our sell by date.

Then that which made us is imperfect in its design.
                  So not omnipotent,
  flawed in its own blueprint.

And so just another pebble in
A dry pond where wishes die.
Poetic T May 2020
For he hurled  the stone,
                            casting it with anger...


And so the first sin was sewn..
                   For the wrath of another showed
that we were the picture of god,


If we were imperfect,
                then our creation was flawed
beyond the reflection of our birth.

The stone was never perfect but
                    flawed when created.
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