Beneath All These

Sometimes my friends refuse to take pictures with me.
"Go away,
Your prettiness will dull us out!"
They would say.

I don't care much,
Because I know deep down,
They were teasing.

But it doesn't mean,
The one who is pretty,
Has it all figured out.
Has the world wrapped around her finger.
Has the least happiness amongst them.

We're all bit depressed around here.

My look doesn't define my heart.
If it does,
Then I'd be the ugliest of them all.
Because there is this darkness,
Consuming it,
And I don't know if I could ever retrieve it back.

I don't have everything figured out.
I can't even breathing without breaking down.
The world is pressuring me.

I'd smile,
And lie,
But my emotional intelligence is inadequate.

I'm just a step away from self destruction.

I don't care for love,
Because I think they won't be able to scare my demons away,
Because they could not pacify the insanity inside me,
Because I won't let my heart love.

My looks,
Is not a tool for their lust.
My looks,
Is merely an illusion,
And my heart,
Does no longer function.