She

Source : https://www.paulbondart.com/paintings/gallery-1/

She is like a poem

That doesn't rhyme well,

Chaotic yet beautiful.

She is like a hardbound book,

with thin old papers,

delicate, fragile.

She is like the porcelain vase,

in the corner of the room,

decorative, a fine piece.

Until one went closer

to find it unattended :

dust and cobwebs all over.

She smiles like the sunshine,

her eyes seem closed as she does.

She's a warm thing

Forsaken in a cold world.

“ It's all your fault “, they tell her.

“ It's you, who's to blame .“

Her words were supposed to be pearls

but they were strewn instead.

She is a mess to those close ;

a mess most are scared to handle.

She tries to put on her brightest grin,

but it's only like moments before she dismantles.

She's a fine young woman,

she's the one with a fine fine heart.

Soothed by the waters of unquenched sorrow,

which has burned from all your smarts.

She's like the summer evening breeze,

but blowing from a direction reverse,

and by now you probably think,

she's got no chance in a situation adverse.

Yet mistake her not -

She too , is a child of God,

while she fusses her way around,

like a firefly in the dark,

Glowing all the same.

Love her like she does,

care for her all the same..

before you irk and smirk and frown

and call her a bad name.

She is a pretty pretty bird,

in her own secret fancies,

unchained from human norms

Tuned to a different frequency.

O' love her for what she is,

as she learns to love herself along,

Tend her to be the daisy,

in a field of violets afterall.

P.S. Happy Women's Day to all you ladies! :)