She is perfect, simply beautiful; voices echo throughout the room.
Take her home; she’s a gift, give her love she will bloom.
A blank slate, nothing written, her life starts an empty scroll.
Tell her only sweet things because in time she will know.
She is adorable, simply charming, many voices still agree.
At her home, she is confident, given love so carefree.
A story in the making, how will she be introduced
This will matter, please, believe me; labels tend to be overused.
She is sweet, simply pleasing; I’m sure someone will concede
At her home, she is crying, feeling hopeless on her knees
The story has turned tragic, hurtful words, so naive
On replay in her mind, each of them she believes
She is stunning, simply ravishing, all her friends will tell you so
Going home, she feels empty but repeats that she is full.
She is hollow, simply transparent, everyone pretending not to see
Her body once her home has become her enemy
Hold on, just a moment, let me take a step away
Another voice says I’m worthy, meant for more and born to slay
You are brilliant; simply elegant ask ill tell you so
My home is what I make it, and my story is my own
It’s not over. I’ve just started so many chapters left to write
My body is a temple, and I am worth the fight.