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.