To say she's a nightmare
Would be like pulling pillowcases
Sewn through the edges with starlight
From every child unfortunate enough
To dream.
Her mind resembles that of a raccoon
Who was once rabid
But now just glues itself to the bed it's created
Where it waits to die.
To say her world should be made of
Who we choose for her to be
Would be clipping the wings
Of a hawk who longs for open skies.
Gossip says she's got it all together.
That hallowed halls lead to
Flourescent suns
Hanging perilously above
The last brain cell she truly carries.
She considers a smile her moat
And her tongue is the drawbridge
To a castle full of every bad thought
Every horrible tear
Every unfathomable emotion
Held between this padded cell she calls skin.
Every morning she sprays attraction
Molding smells to her body to mask
The odor of so much nothing
That floats behind her.
Their sighs of wonderment
Slowly drift upward
Getting lost in the vents
As they ogle her reality
And curse her very being.
She pours ink to her skin
Hidden treasures found only by those
Brave enough to venture the warped passages
Scraping across her empty heart chamber.
She's so... Shattered.
She's so... Beautiful.
Her palms spread paint
Upon every surface that dares challenge them.
Her words pour faith
Into every unsure feeling
Living in patchwork bodies.
Insecurities cry under her gaze
Bleeding golden courage
Staining every star falling from her eyes
Her soul
Is a mess
But her heart
Is only held back by her chest
She's everything to everyone
And no one to herself.