Beautifully Dull

My pencil curves and lease behind reminants of itself on this very page.

It creates something new, something beautiful and poetic

but at the same time..

The pencil is dying.

All that it creates in beauty, it creates dull.

That's me.

Something so perfect to someone, 

so beautiful to them in the way that I am

yet I'm damaged.

I have scars that can never be removed,

bones that show,

hands that shake,

words that are never said because I'm too scared..

I've grown dull from the damage done to my once perfect canvas,

and it's all in an attempt to create someone

                                                             beautiful.