Origami
June 26th, 2013, 03:41 AM
I haven't written in a while and have never written a poem in such a loose format as this. Oh well, here's to the best.
Proofreading: None.
Time spent writing: ~30minutes.
You say
You want flawless?
A 34-24-35 ratio compressed
Down into a figure like an hourglass?
You say
You want perfect?
No blemish, no scar, no birthmark?
Well where's the fun in that?
I want
Scarred.
I want that girl with the broken heart
That's been too many times trampled on
By careless "lovers" who only loved her
For what they could gain from her
In the dark of night doing
Things she knew wasn't right.
But did them anyway just to feel alive,
To feel a four letter word that
She thought was spelled L-O-V-E
Only to discover a typo of L-U-S-T.
I want
Her.
I don't care if her body was once a battlefield
Where cuts and burns waged relentless wars
That mercilessly ripped, damaged, and tore
Her once spotless skin into a state that most abhor.
I don't need to read her body with a triple X rating in mind,
I mean, if I'm hers and she's really mine
Then shouldn't it be more like a novel?
Each scar a chapter of her life embedded in various ways
And criss-crossing patterns that represent all the days
And nights she'd cry herself to sleep trying to find
Something inside that would save her or help her hide
From that L-O-V-E maybe L-U-S-T word.
They say
That she's just burned out.
But I think they just haven't figured out
That once you open the book
There's so much more hidden inside.
They're still too busy observing the cover
To realize therein lies a whole new world to discover
Where "beauty" can't be so easily defined
In some pop-culture outline that really
Only stops her from shining like the star
That she really is.
I want her to know
That she's beautiful
With her own bust-waist-hip ratio
That's a bit obscure by most standards.
But I want her to know
That she's beautiful
Because If she knew what I know
She'd know those standards are obsolete!
She'd know that
We don't lose value by our scar count
But gain worth with every story we have to tell
Of how we fell down into the depths of Hell
And had to repel hordes of demons
Who sought our soul for sell only to find
That our strength isn't what they had in mind.
Stories of how, when knocked down
By those around us, we'd stand, not letting them see us frown.
Stories of how we overcame.
Stories of how we became exactly who we are-
A storybook written vividly in scars.
That's what we are.
She'd know
That she's worth more to me than any "flawless" girl.
That her scars to me are nothing more than
Reminders saying, "Fragile, Handle With Care."
And that's what I'll do, treat her with care
Be it with love poems or nights spent playing with her hair
Or just trying my best not to stare because it
Makes her feel insecure, even though I think she's beautiful.
Yeah, she should know
She's beautiful to me.
Just the way she is.
Proofreading: None.
Time spent writing: ~30minutes.
You say
You want flawless?
A 34-24-35 ratio compressed
Down into a figure like an hourglass?
You say
You want perfect?
No blemish, no scar, no birthmark?
Well where's the fun in that?
I want
Scarred.
I want that girl with the broken heart
That's been too many times trampled on
By careless "lovers" who only loved her
For what they could gain from her
In the dark of night doing
Things she knew wasn't right.
But did them anyway just to feel alive,
To feel a four letter word that
She thought was spelled L-O-V-E
Only to discover a typo of L-U-S-T.
I want
Her.
I don't care if her body was once a battlefield
Where cuts and burns waged relentless wars
That mercilessly ripped, damaged, and tore
Her once spotless skin into a state that most abhor.
I don't need to read her body with a triple X rating in mind,
I mean, if I'm hers and she's really mine
Then shouldn't it be more like a novel?
Each scar a chapter of her life embedded in various ways
And criss-crossing patterns that represent all the days
And nights she'd cry herself to sleep trying to find
Something inside that would save her or help her hide
From that L-O-V-E maybe L-U-S-T word.
They say
That she's just burned out.
But I think they just haven't figured out
That once you open the book
There's so much more hidden inside.
They're still too busy observing the cover
To realize therein lies a whole new world to discover
Where "beauty" can't be so easily defined
In some pop-culture outline that really
Only stops her from shining like the star
That she really is.
I want her to know
That she's beautiful
With her own bust-waist-hip ratio
That's a bit obscure by most standards.
But I want her to know
That she's beautiful
Because If she knew what I know
She'd know those standards are obsolete!
She'd know that
We don't lose value by our scar count
But gain worth with every story we have to tell
Of how we fell down into the depths of Hell
And had to repel hordes of demons
Who sought our soul for sell only to find
That our strength isn't what they had in mind.
Stories of how, when knocked down
By those around us, we'd stand, not letting them see us frown.
Stories of how we overcame.
Stories of how we became exactly who we are-
A storybook written vividly in scars.
That's what we are.
She'd know
That she's worth more to me than any "flawless" girl.
That her scars to me are nothing more than
Reminders saying, "Fragile, Handle With Care."
And that's what I'll do, treat her with care
Be it with love poems or nights spent playing with her hair
Or just trying my best not to stare because it
Makes her feel insecure, even though I think she's beautiful.
Yeah, she should know
She's beautiful to me.
Just the way she is.