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Barbie is fake, Beauty is real

What we are is real
and real is who were suppose to be
and If we were meant to be fake
our skin would be plastic like barbie,
but we are all humans.
Humans who make mistakes,
who has scars: seen or hidden,
and who has things that they wish
to change about themselves.
But, our Uniquely selves
are imperfections of beauty
because beauty isn't fake; beauty is real.

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Through an arthurs words a beauty is seen

Despite the never ending wonders
and the darkness it brings.
Life and nature itslef
brings a beauty so rare
that makes moments in life so specail.

And if we take a moment to stop
and really see with our eyes
we'll find something so breathtaking
that no play on words could even describe
the beauty that you and I seek.

That only a writer
could capture natures beauty
and just one wron...

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Ones' Face

God has given us one face,
he has given us something great
that we take advantage of each day.

Our face is a work of art
each so similar,
yet different in many ways.

Each work of art he's created
is a beauty that only few notice
and is something that we hardly see
In our own selves.

God has given each of us a gift beauty,
yet that's not the way we see it.
We judge and critize our...

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Free write #1

Life's lost labours wilt,wither,wanting watering sprinkles. Downward spirals spin silently, serenity slithering step by step. Troubled toes stub callased skin, scraping scabbing layers of animosity and misgivings, life's unforgiveness, bleeding bluntly, replacing remnants of radial radiance with life's leftovers. A tempest's temporal trials burn, incinerate, insideous intentions. Questions g...

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Beauty Unseen

Frozen sighs shadow thick,

Fire heaving through the giants teeth,

Her silk dress gliding gently, serene,

Eyes beating like drums on Winter Eve.

He quells her silent tears,

Caressing her sea of particles,

Eliminating the smudges wept across her jaw,

For her eyes spilled a thousand written articles.

"Beauty, beauty is within and without,"

He articulates, palm leveling her ...

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Beauty and the Beast

Who is to determine ones beauty?

What is Beauty?

Beauty is simple,

Its the DNA used to create a life,

Sometimes beauty is ugly,

And sometimes it is pretty,

By this in no way do I compare to looks,

It's not the shape of your body,

It's not the shape of your nose,

It's not the shape of your smile,

It's not the shape of your eyes,

It's not the color of your hair,


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For a Stranger

I saw a girl today.

Her hair was fire.

And like fire, I was drawn to her.

Like fire, I kept my distance.


I was afraid she might burn me,

That my passion would consume me.

So I let the moment pass,

And I watched her leave.


But like staring into a flame,

When she was gone,

And I closed my eyes,

I still saw her.

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These memories fade into me

Each time I gather

They become seamless


They've woven themselves into the stars


Beauty as they are

It is my past


To the melody of my soul

I caught them dancing

As if they didn't mind the memories that cried

They thought them loveliness


Please watch for when they fall

That is you or I falling to harmonize



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A Weed

Yesterday I saw a weed,
proud and tall as a tower,
But it will be cut down soon,
Because it was not made a flower.

You see, a flower is considered pretty;
It pleases the eye with form and color.
But a weed is considered ugly,
And dares to spread, and cover.

So they say it is a choking plant,
And consider it a bother.
But a flower chokes just as well,
It is just has the decency to be...

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Another Day Of Bliss


Streaks of tepid sunshine

with magical golden spell


Provoke latent indolence

 for fresh fervor compel


Scatter of nomadic clouds

of varied  shape and form


Reflect strokes of artistry

  nature aiming to perform


Trees full with mangoes

heralding in joyous time


Cuckoo cooing in concord

 some singing choir sublime


Distant sight of g...

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Slowly cutting myself to pieces

I become smaller, less insignificant,

reduce myself to nothing.

Darkness glides into my vision,

light lifts my soul from my desiccated flesh.

Looking down I see my body and the ruin

of my civilisation, a hollow shell.

I journey to gothic solitude,

to a place called Evenfall.

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His Blue Period

His Blue Period.

Her breath smells of the peppermint
tea, that we had drunk earlier,
when I tilt her chin to the light
on this late summer afternoon.

She smiles and her eyes come alight
with warmth that breathes into the room
from the open patio doors
that lead out into the garden.

I paid earlier, as we talked
and she said she could only stay
for two hours as she had to go
and pi...

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