She

She is a whirlwind of chaos

Not afraid to live, to love, to fail, to feel every feeling there is

And give names to ones that haven’t yet been named.

 

She is a gorgeous mess of unsaid words,

quietly begging others to crawl insider her heart and live there for a while,

free of charge.

 

She is an illusion, a mystery,

master of reinvention, and a total perfectionist,

Who would never ask of others the same.

 

The world is gray,

and sometimes she is blue

Still, she sees that silver lining and the rose hue of life

And where some may only find silence, for her there’s always a song

In the tip of her tongue

In the sashay of her hips

In the pattern her footsteps make on the snow

 

Yes, she is the moon and the sun

And she doesn’t yet know that she owns the entire sky.

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