always caresses her face.


always finds her eyes.

she doesn’t understand why no one understands


yet continue trying to define


she knows she’s unordinary,

not the level of extra terrestrial but,

there are feelings both profound and not,

that she cannot articulate into words.

there are joys that she cannot carry

for her shoulders are occupied by burdens.

she does not remain laden, though she lie absent

of the glow beneath her skin she cannot bequeath.

the beauty in her mind --

her complexity --


she prays to the lullabies in her head at night

for her mind to be the solid ground.

not those in caves of grey-moonlight dust

sheltered away. but, like red sand exposed

to dry air, always fresh, renewed and solid.

her eyelids never close completely. her mind

is never at peace. she beats herself

with thoughts that seep into her identity.

but she needn’t remedy.

her, and the power she holds firm

even on unstable ground

is beyond comprehension.

the sun prays to her every new day

for such gorgeous imperfections.

she is complexity, oversimplified into

personality --

refined yet

struggles to define all she feels;

all she knows,

all she hurts,

in a world where these complexities are

not overlooked or unaddressed. but,


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