Unfiltered, unbounded, left out in the open to drown.

Raw, bruised and misplaced. Things are always changing and yet stay the same.

Darker than light and lighter than dark. She lives in extremes, she can’t trust herself.

Walking the line, unsure of why, because someone told her to. Told her to live this way.

Will paper give her recognition? Is she wasting her time. Time is an illusion. Just like her value.

Her value was made up, and it was taken away. Her definitions of herself have made her go astray. She wonders why she cannot focus. The smiles and frowns feel like the same lie.

She can’t be constant, expect for being inconsistent.

She is the joy of life, she is the down-poor.

She is trustworthy although she doesn’t trust herself.

She is a great lover but is hurt by your love. She can be thrown off by it, wanting to get up again.

She is sensitive while being numb. And she is courageous and she cower still.

She is the ultimate in paradox, feeling both extremes so close to one another.

She is powerful and yet so fragile. Like a heavy statue, that just needs to be knocked over.

It has knocked over, and it’s hard to get up.

She has gotten up many times, but this time is tough.

She is questioning how long her life will be this way.

She is wondering if she has lost the battle and dis not sure.

Is she worthy? Or is life worthy of her? She thinks about jumping out of life; what does it deserve?

How long must she fit into a society, that doesn’t understand her?

How long must she play the role that does not serve her.

Does she have to pay off her debts, or do anything.

She has lost her joy, to do just about anything.

Misted Forest