they say the eyes are the window to the soul,

 

maybe that explains why hers are so cold.

 

she stumbles through he world each and every day

 

hoping to soon find her way.

 

while she spends her time traveling city to city and town to town.

 

her heart was once an open book, but now had it's pages ripped out.

 

even surrounded by others she feels locked in a box,

 

she shut them out but they changed the locks.

 

 

 

 

alone in her room, wrapped in blanket made up of self hate. 

 

'things get better' she's told, but she lacks the energy to wait.

 

she wonders which pain is worse, the emotional or the physical.

 

and looking back, she wonders what was it that made her so cynical.

 

was it the times she was told she was worthless, pathetic or something more?

 

constantly pasting the grin of false happiness on her face started to become a chore.

 

 

 

 

but throughout her absolute darkness, she found her sun

 

when she found her voice, she knew that her war had been won.

 

off came her mask and she let her true self fly,

 

and surrounded by her happiness, she soared to the sky.