She stops the clock, And whispers truth, With elegance she begins to rue. "It's the women of the world that suffer, you see; Aesthetic perfection controlling everything."
And she begins to bleed, For love, selcouth, Something beautiful she finds in you. She endures the pain of men to be, A silent martyr of women's suffering.
POEM COPYRIGHT DENIS CARON
Share with #corvink on Instagram & @CorvinkCo will spread the love.