She

She was never a valley for you to wander through, or a piece of clay in your hands to shape.
She is not what society told you she is. She is not a lifeless statue to shut up and submit.
She is a free ocean that doesn’t need someone within her ruthless waves to swim.
She might be a million pieces pointillism styled puzzle, but the image she forms is complete.
She doesn’t need your charming presence, cheap compliments or already worn before rings to acquire a purpose for her existence.
She can be rude, savage, rebellious and violent, and she will still keep calling herself beautiful, and she will earn it.
She can be black, red, bubble gum pink or gold resting on a bench under a tree with a book and still, she would blind you with her shades of violet.
She is not there as a side dish for your meal to choose whatever type you want from and ask for as much as you like from her soul.
She is bones and flesh and regrets that she won’t open up to you about them just because you asked her to when you won’t even listen,
because she has the choice to say NO to every single person who thinks she is another petal in their delicately selected morning roses bouquet.
She has the right to say NO to every single guy who treated her like a paper made origami shaped daisy and kept her in the darkness of his pockets when she is a sunflower.

Categories: Poetry

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