What an irony it is
To be a rose
adored by the crowd
And yet cry for the one
Who walks past you
As if you’re js a thorn
He calls the stars in my eyes ordinary
And what even is beauty?
If the one I crave for
Is blind to it
But how do I bend someone’s eyes
To see something they refuse to
But I’ve drawn acceptance
In the fact
I wasn’t made to be the constellation