She isn't invisible
Her soul is incredibly loud
Her eyes beg for attention
Her being longs for it more
Now whenever they passed it was clear
She was not a figure of beauty
But she was the grace of rolling rivers
And the silence of the hills
And she was imperfectly perfect
A paradox and an oxymoron
She was the poetry flowing from soft lips
Ink bleeding through unsuspecting paper
She was filled with flaws and they built her
She was a composition of music
Because no music is music without the dissonance
YOU ARE READING
Glass Hearts and Shadows of Monsters
PoetryWhen there are monsters in your head And a glass heart in your chest You can't wage a brutal war without your heart being broken
