always caresses her face.
always finds her eyes.
she doesn’t understand why no one understands
yet continue trying to define
she knows she’s unordinary,
not the level of extra terrestrial but,
there are feelings both profound and not,
that she cannot articulate into words.
there are joys that she cannot carry
for her shoulders are occupied by burdens.
she does not remain laden, though she lie absent
of the glow beneath her skin she cannot bequeath.
the beauty in her mind --
her complexity --
she prays to the lullabies in her head at night
for her mind to be the solid ground.
not those in caves of grey-moonlight dust
sheltered away. but, like red sand exposed
to dry air, always fresh, renewed and solid.
her eyelids never close completely. her mind
is never at peace. she beats herself
with thoughts that seep into her identity.
but she needn’t remedy.
her, and the power she holds firm
even on unstable ground
is beyond comprehension.
the sun prays to her every new day
for such gorgeous imperfections.
she is complexity, oversimplified into
struggles to define all she feels;
all she knows,
all she hurts,
in a world where these complexities are
not overlooked or unaddressed. but,