She was electric in hot pink heels
That's why he ******* hated her
Her tight black pencil skirt helped her to prevail  
His ego a morsel in comparison to her priorities
Once a love now devoured
A misery deserved
He was a mistake in the making
Confidence she held to a high society
He was a risk never worth taking
Love is a disgust, as he held her hand in front of a judge
He took a life time opportunity for granted
Her strong will had excelled planning
His ugly button up shirt and shiney shoes is all he has left
Dismantled, his pride is nonexistent  
She a constant certanty
Walking with narccism pink arched bow ties, she has no reason to cry

Who Am I?
A question too romanticised
To have one answer;

Maybe I'm a butterfly,
Spreading my wings
And becoming a metaphor for creativity

Maybe I'm a spirit, a ghost,
Wandering and gliding around
This plane of existence for answers.

Maybe I'm a leaf,
Fallen from a tree.
I glide and glide and I am free!

Or maybe I'm just me.

I'm myself.
And sometimes I write words
And people like them.

I exist,
And sometimes I do things,
And other things happen after that.

Maybe I'm self doubtful,
Maybe I lack a certain narccism,
Maybe I'm missing my confidence.

But to be honest,
When you ask who I am,
I answer:

I am me.