This is a short happening I managed to put it in short sentences. This tells a gloomy phase of a woman's life who have been maltreated by a guy whom she thought she loved and that he was the only man on this planet for her. Like every other emotional female she surrendered herself to him after dating him for a month and there she discovered a dirty side oh him.
All the woman around are beautiful, pretty and praiseworthy. While creating you that almighty didn't put any written tag on your foreheads. He created us all with equal love and slashing equal energies in us.
The lifted cheeks, edgy jawline, sleek nose, extended neck, perfectly carved abdomen, round - heavy and bun like breast, or tight wide and twerky hips and bony or fatty thighs, these all don't determine the beauty of a female.
Looking at plastic people we feel moved and began to put efforts to carry out these kind of surgeries ultimately putting ourself into an unnatural world. We fail to accept yourself the way we are. Rather we begin to think about the outer world and people. And the girls start to criticize themselves, feeling completely dishearten.
So, be happy as you are. Do not feel move by celebrities who have done a costly makeover to dolled up themselves completely into a fake structure.
If you are changing your physique relying on the thought that you don't look apt and beautiful. Remember you are questioning God's creation.
Is there an answer in those blank pages? They got soaked when I accidentally spilled some teardrops mixed in ink, now drying them under the solisequious poem. Answers to the unanswered utopia that I once dreamt of on night of lost stars, nexion of pandemonium calling me.
I was never a speck of dust until I discovered the vastness of this universe that I dwell in, against my will. Isn't it ironic how science fanatics are trying to unfold secrets of the black hole while writers are already inhabiting them and using them as portals to their poetic elysiums and crafting tales of renaissance.
I was painting my nights with happy lies with bright tints and hues of jubilance. Now I am only left with dark shades in my palette, they are painting blues and mirk. I asked the daisies to lend me some happy dyes for my happy lies on dark nights; they asked for a gleeful poetry about them and unfortunately I have never written one on them.