Sometimes
you just feel pretty
but you wish you could be pretty
for someone
And this someone is not there, not here for you, or
not here, in the right place, here, just next to you.
And this someone sometimes does not exist
the mirror you’re looking at
does not exist, at all
this someone simply has never existed
And you just feel ashamed, and sad, and ugly
for nothing
for no one
although you’re fuckin’ damn pretty
but there is no one to tell
And it’s a shame
And you’re telling yourself the same story
that the sun you’re searching is inside
the heart next door
but sometimes you pray for
this sun being outside,
just in front of you,
and this sun would be so kind to reflect
how fuckin’ damn pretty you are
because you can feel you are.
But you’re alone with your prettiness
and you don’t know if it does really exist,
right here, inside you, within you, part of you
and you’re lost in looking at the wrong direction
Your prettiness is looking for an ocean instead
an ocean to dive in, to swim, to live
bold and wild.
f.
La plume fragile 
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