right at this moment,I am an awful masterpiece
left here to be
glanced back on and reconsider.
Enthusiastically as I may try
I’m not the muse the poet speak of
Not made up of the deep body of water, waves or tides, no
My ribcage does not whisper to my lungs,
And my heart is not a precious diamond.
It will at all times be a weapon
more than anything.
I am a vague masterpiece
full of striked out words and evolution
no one ever calls a draft alluring- beautiful.
why can’t I be the last piece?
Perhaps someday, somebody out there will.
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