In the eye of the beholder

In the eye of the beholder,
Beauty isn’t always followed in
a trail of rose pedals. 
Sometimes it comes in 
jagged pink edges and 
splintered hands. 

Sometimes it comes with 
the chill of nightfall and 
the ashes a fire leaves in its wake. 
Sometimes it comes in 
broken ties and 
hidden agendas,
In disfigured limbs and 
bruised lips. 

Sometimes beauty can be 
as dark and unclear as 
our ability to understand it. 

And that is okay with me. 

BIATA, ‘conventional is small for me’

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