She

She;
is a museum of 
broken dreams,
of art pieces devoid of 
attention and appreciation 
they deserved,
of sculptures of hope,
of paintings that preserve
emotional conflict on the 
canvas of smile,
of the walls that speak of 
the unconditional love given 
unacknowledged over the years,
of the silent voices of 
unexpressed emotions lost in the 
light show of words.

She;
is a diary of lost thoughts
in the darkness of 
lonely nights, 
an incomplete journey 
which could never meet its 
happy end, 
a voice who has lost 
it's emotions, a laughter 
missing the laugh and 
all that now belongs to her 
is a vintage smile, 
preserving all the scars 
and burning wounds in it
silently and cautiously.  

She;
is a raging storm 
full of grief searching 
a way of expression,
sometimes thunder,
sometimes rain;
a lonely cloud in the sunshine 
sky, a blooming flower 
with it's petals dry, 
a piano playing a rhythm that 
sounds melancholic and 
yet hopeful, a rainbow in the 
dark sky, and even with 
broken wings she dares to fly.

She;
is a fire ignited from 
the ashes of wounded emotions,
flames blazing hope in the 
sky of grief, she carries the 
lessons, regrets, memories
and traumas on the 
tender skin of love she 
has within her, for after all
the ability to love is the 
only superpower she possesses
in the world that is too coward 
to feel anything.

She;
is too fictional for this 
real world, for her heart is 
made up of art and literature,
she is too artistic for the 
materialistic generation, she 
belongs to the books, to the 
imageries, to the romantics, to 
the aura and magic of words,
to the musical rhythm she feels 
in her heart everytime it rains, 
to the tender touch of morning breeze 
on her skin, to the nights that feel 
like home, to the pages stained 
with ink and poetry and pain and 
metaphors of beauty because
~ everytime poetry saved her in as many ways a person could be saved.