With a foggy head, and one cloudy eye,
She'd smile her brightest smile rather than cry,
Although she was unbalanced, her steps held grace,
Although she hated it greatly, she'd never hide her face.
Her arms unperfected, not quite healed,
Sometimes would appear but mostly remained sealed,
She'd paint her hair, her nails, her face too,
Doing just about anything to get through.
Her head never got less foggy, and the clouds never left her one eye,
But her smile hardly faltered and I bet you'll never see her cry.
YOU ARE READING
An Amalgamation of Words
PoetryI'm almost as bad at writing descriptions as I am at writing poems, but at least I tried. Sharing my inner turmoil, one poorly worded sentence at a time.
