My adversities as you call them are my saviors. They are the thin thread binding me to life. The reason why beauty still exists in this hideous world.

My misfortunes, as you label them are the foundations of who I am. They fortified this fragile heart to stand amidst the chaos. I wear them like clothes for you to judge like eyes staring at flaws and declaring them as dirt.

That stain on a clean white cloth, a single black dot you can’t help but notice. Soon enough your thoughts will turn to words so sharp, they severe my peace.

But no, I am made of hurricanes, tainted virtues and ragged blood dipped thorns. I am poison to your tongue. One you cannot swallow. One you would rather spit out in disgust.

No matter how hard you try to annihilate them with your so called proper ways, they are there. Visible eye sore for you to see.

But I pray that your perfections won’t put you on a pedestal of regret. I pray that one day the book of standards and norms will burn. I pray that my misfortunes, adversities and stains will be the light on your path to your individuality.


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