Peice of writing by me, what do you think.?

by Svadilfari

Question by *Tasha*: Peice of writing by me, what do you think.?
Eyes. The most breathtaking beauty of any living creature. The proof of your identity, the ovals that give and insight on the world around you, and what’s more their your one and only feature which reveals your true emotions. Mine, however are out of the ordinary. To read them would be like trying to crack an upright egg with your thumb and finger. Impossible. In life you may have come across solemn eyes, pleading eyes, greedy eyes, envious eyes, passionate eyes and maybe even troublesome eyes. Yet never a pair like mine? How could you conclude on which cluster they belong? My most treasured asset, though where they belong was an inscrutability.

Blue eyes, brown hair. I should be proud. Most males would turn their head just to take a peak at these most favoured qualities, females would stare so hard their eyes would no longer be eyes, but shiny green marbles. The auburn coloured wavy thick hair flowed like a waterfall and was eventually settled at my lower back graciously. Disgusted. I flicked the glossy hair away from my face so it was out of my sight. My bluish emerald eyes never dared to look up; look your way or anybodies way for that matter. They stayed glued to my boney narrow feet, every step I made my eyes followed glumly.

My clear olive skinned complexion too lavish to touch, complimented my ruby desirable lips. It was hard to miss these lips, so large, so wine coloured they could be spotted a mile off. The colour would never die out, no matter how hard I scrubbed there was no hope. Why wasn’t they planted on a big name’s face who truly cared? They were unwanted and unasked for. Speech was often avoided by me, this ruby pout was so sensational it frequently resulted in a man’s heart to rapidly pump, needy eyes to wonder with admiration, face to flush, palms to sweat and that sexual organ to harden and rise. The thought of making any males heart race simply with one look, disgraced me.

Fifteen years of age and I was blossoming increasingly each day. Already I had what seemed like magical powers. I was capable to lure the opposite sex so unintentionally and easily I didn’t even grasp. Was this the power women adored? Was this the way women got what they want, in order to succeed? Within two years I’d lost my shabby childhood ways and gained nothing other than femininity. Never in my life had I missed something that much, than being a child, being free. Free of stress, worries and the real meanings of existence. Everything now seemed all so clear and disturbing.

I carried my head in shame. I despised these almost “Perfect,” characteristics. I despise who was attracted to them and moreover the unwanted attention that was drawn to me. I don’t intend to be noticed or complimented, I’d much prefer it if you ignored me, let me be. For once only could you take interest in me, not the glistening eyes or the glossy hair. Isn’t it the inside that counts after all? Or are people so vein the inside is never interpreted anymore?

Best answer:

Answer by Pichulover
I like it. It’s really good!

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