The beauty of a woman

is her glistening eyes

from the memory of her sadness

and her unspoken feelings

For every time they glisten

her faith is being tested

and she climbs another step up

as she slowly reaches heaven

You are my beautiful death

Because despite the crimson blood

And all that horrible heart break

I know we will meet in heaven someday

~miscarriage ~

I am the one who never has it first

The one who never has it earlier

I will always have it late or much worst

For I am sadly, the late bloomer

It is simple they say.

Is it?

I don't think so.

It has been eighteen days now that I guarded my senses from anything that smells amazing, taste delectable and a comfort to my eyes.

Each day, it gets more difficult and each minute, I hear a voice saying something like "Give up..."?

Eighteen days, it has only been eighteen days! yet my body feels lifeless. My day seems meaningless. Each meal seems redundant.

What am I doing?

Is this torture even worth my time?

Why am I even doing this?

They say it is healthy.

Perhaps physically.

but mentally?

This routine is turning me into...

a starving

effortlessly provoked

growling

monster.

I am at my worst, honestly.

It is as if dealing with this is not bad enough, I have to deal with society and their endless questions of "how long is this going to last? ", "Are you sure you can go without your poison?" .

So tell me, how is this easy? Are they not the very people who told me to shed those weight for health purposes? Are they not the very people who told me, you are beautiful, you just need to lose the extra pound.

In such awkward situation, I normally pass it off with a smile before hanging my head low. Apparently, I am blessed with an extremely slow metabolism and an even slower ability to defend myself.

Either way, it is not working for me.

On the other hand, I have people telling me that I am beautiful despite my weight but strangely, they would not even be caught hanging out with me. They say I would find someone someday but their choice of dates proved otherwise.

I remember having this conversation with myself on the morning of day nineteenth.

Today, it is day three hundredth after that awful conversation and I have to say, thank you for my slow metabolism and my even slower ability to defend myself because in return, I have been granted a determination that is iron solid.

Today I stand rooted surrounded by people who is starting to feel insecure. A handful of dates of which I rejected blatantly. Amidst all those people, stands this one person, this person who has yet to come to terms that I did not give up.

 Myself.