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I see you.
the truth behind
your beautiful brown eyes
the sadness
so carefully crafted
into the lines
of your delicate smile
the scars
hidden deep
inside the shadows
of your perfect skin
you are beautiful.
you spend days
fighting demons
that drink
of your despair
and who dance
with your desires
whose voices
pierce silence
whispering
soft sadness
born of memories
trapped forever
in time eternal.
yet still
you fight.
in caring deeds
and kind compassions
you are selfless
dark wanderer
you hold hands
with strangers
and guide souls
through the shadows
of their endless nights
yet at the edge
of their own
forests of doom
you cannot cross
into the light
your guardian spirit
radiant
but somehow
tarnished
by the fact
that nothing
is quite enough
to save you
from the echoes
in your mind
and so instead
you spin the silks
of your soul
slowly
into sentences
to find
the perfect
words
to paint
the perfect
pictures
to put makeup
on the monsters
of your madness
so that strangers
might take selfies
with your sadness.
beautiful stranger
you wander
wounded worlds
filled
with damaged dreams
and misplaced memories
desperately searching
for the light
lost
so many years ago
hoping
with all your heart
with all that you have left
that with its glow
you might
be seen
more clearly.
more clearly
than your
clockwork confidence
more clearly
than the trophies
of your sad success
more clearly
than your
injured love
that you
so selflessly
share
with strangers
you still fight
refuse to die
because
you
are the protagonist
of this story
and your chapters
are yet complete.
but you fear
yes
you are so afraid
that when
the shadows
abandon
your company
and your pen
runs dry
of the blood
that gave you purpose
you might not
recognize
the menagerie
in the mirror.
beautiful stranger
I’ve not much
to offer you
beyond the truth
of my own injured love
but if my affections
should forever fall
into a moment forgotten
then know this
before I go
you’re not meant
to be fixed
you’re not meant
to forget
you’re not meant
to let go
of the darkness
in your heart.
your scars
are beautiful
to those
who would
see you
clearly
and the chaos
in your ink
cannot
forsake you
if you
do not
forsake
it.
beautiful stranger.
I see you.
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