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Brave Wilson Jun 2020
He still try to impress her, but why?
A priority he is not, a fact shes all but proven.
Her words and her actions,
Like puzzles from a jigsaw,
with no  pieces in the center.
Yet he clings on her words,
with hope down to his soul.
He's condemned the religious man
for blindly following God,
who does nothing to prove he's real
and condemned the very same God
on a count of faith being a liability.
And like a cruel twist of fate
in his own Life's Journey,
the only way he can attain,
A sense of joy is by the faith
that she'll someday let herself love him
as he's so clearly shown he loves her.
A joke it is really, when this condition was set,
with his afterlife on Libras scales,
He weighed his mortality wasn't worth a simple maybe,
but now a maybe holds more stock,
then his heart saying he should stop!..
He can't even contemplate choosing
himself over a girl that disregards him,
And all he can care about
is which choice will ensures her smile won't see doubt.

Pathetic isn't it.
- I think the poem mostly speaks for itself, but yeah this is how I felt about someones daughter.
Brave Wilson Jun 2020
Born Insecure, ever chasing perfection.
Never quite skinny enough,
Never quite pretty enough,
her soul was the purest,
This fact would elude her.
Her form was her weakness,
This fact would consume her.
Until the day had come,
when a breathe she could not draw,
as the Portrait on her arms,
had Spilled all her ink.
- Its an ugly world we live in, where the parameters of beauty are controlled by the ugliest among us

— The End —