The Curse of Beauty

I get flowers and I get poems written for me. I get showers of praises directed to me. All these compliments, even more promises, I get everything, every fucking thing to me. My beauty is a symbol of power through views. A power that I cannot control or use. With sweet little lies, and thousands of tries. They try to be poets and I am their muse. Only by seeing me something they feel. They fall in…