In fairytales spun with threads of gold,
Fantasy weaves tales, but truth untold,
Dreams painted in hues of perfection,
Reality's absence, a cruel deception.

Characters clad in virtues so divine,
Yet life's complexities, they undermine,
For in the real world, shadows persist,
Fairytales evade truths that exist.

In castles tall, love's kiss breaks the spell,
But reality's truths, a harder sell,
In flawed hearts, love's journey is strife,
Fairytales deny the tumultuous life.

Happily ever after, a whimsical notion,
Life's challenges scorn such devotion,
For happiness waltzes with sorrow's song,
Fairytales mask the struggles lifelong.

So, I loathe the tales with happy endings,
Reality's narrative, it keeps transcending,
In life's tapestry, flaws are an art,
Fairytales, a facade, keeping us apart.

it was the month of december the night you arrived by the light of the moon. the air smelled strongly with the scent of the pure and chaste blossoms that were white in color. the experience of breathing your aroma is like taking a whiff of a flower, which you could do for the rest of your life. that lovely vanilla aroma was carried by the breeze just before we crossed paths with one another. after that, everything in my life was turned upside down, and love came with your smell.

but now it's summer, and every flower is a bright shade of yellow. red, sweet berries will be taken off the branches by birds when they are perfectly ripe. i lean down to put my finger on a stem. how quickly my flower-filled youth has passed me by, and how dreary and cold this day has become. like the bowed vines, i shudder as rains shimmer with my own tears and fall.

a perfume was able to capture the nuances of my emotions and transform them into scents that i'll never be capable of throwing away. the same fragrance is still sprayed from the same bottle, but now it has an unsettling scent about it. it smells like fear— smells like fear for not wearing it as you used to. when i first smelled you, i thought i'd found the perfect perfume to compliment my soul. now, though, you're the one thing that i loathe which makes my emotions flare and my breath stop.

my heart broke apart just like the bottle of perfume i watched someone throwing it away on the ground. the perfume is not a scent; instead, it is a feeling that i had in my chest when i was looking for someone to wear with my favorite clothes. i loved that perfume, and brought it every single moment and used it as a reminder, a small tiny chime of all the bittersweet things you did. but now, it smells exactly the same as the scent that i despised the most.

To loathe oneself
is an art,
I suppose we
are all artists
one in form or another.

I have a problem
I hope you're not
Too fed up with me
And my never ending
Sadness and self loathe

But I have a problem
Not with anyone else
Or anything
But with myself

You see mirrors
Aren't my problem
What I see
When I walk pass is

I'm not talking about
The fatness and the
Unattractiveness
I'm talking about what
I really see, everytime
I walk pass a mirror

I have a horrible problem
I hate the person I see
I am disgusted with
The soul I see
I am disappointed with
The ******* human
I see.

I have a ******* problem
I am my own *******
problem
I hate myself way more
Than anyone else can...

-fir.m

I think about you all the time,
I dream about you all the time,
I miss you all the time,
I remember all the time,
You torture me all the time,
I regret you all the time,
I'm sorry all the time,
But don't forgive me- I'll change my mind.