I believe it's completely true
she packs more than what others might expect in her punches.
She’ll lash out more than others respect
she'll give out more than others
will assume she has.
So she does not brag about her forthcoming out among the peasants in the media.
She only looks out at what surrounds her in awe and pain
looking at what others see that she may or may not have it
looks as if what she has been taken among
others that people have claimed she hurt
not knowing that her victors have been obstacles
she's overcome by the wealth within the knowledge that people have given
her stuck-up among hours of reading.
People do not understand that little do they know
she is a masterpiece built by the hands of not herself but in the hands of what others thought was broken
she’s built among the hands of the words she kept to herself and did not speak yet willingly wrote down to share with others
the ones that she was not willing to speak to her haters, but keeps behind the bars of the notebooks, the tones of the notebooks and journals
held empires of emotions
pens emptied by emptying open wounds won in the war against her heart
annoyed by how far of a journey she has come by ignoring what she wants to say out loud to silence them keeping them behind the bars of a page.
But at night she has become unrolling
stalking the black holes of the Woods
The Forest of other minds knowing,
what others think of her
knowing what she should think of herself.
She will not allow others to overcome her she will overcome them
in the wilderness like a flame that takes place small underestimated, but that overcomes the entire Forest
she will overcome them like the sun taking the moon's place in the sky
getting rid of all the stars that are still there but just out of sight.
she is not silent
she is not vulnerable
she is not afraid to howel without a moon in the sky
she will not let what others give her to be the only things that she has in her possessions
she knows how to provide and prevail.
she takes what she needs like Robin Hood
gives to the poor
someday she feels as if she's rich she's stealing from
On other days she feels as if she’s poor she's giving back to
wishing she could be one or the other
not all of them tied up into one present
she is but she isn't
what she wants to be but she stays stern like a tree that's been planted years ago.
Give her what you must but she will give back 10 folds
she does not care what you give her
she does not care what she gives herself
she knows that there's a future that will replace every broken part of her.
She is the wolf in sheep's clothing other days she’s the sheep being hunted by that same one.
I Never will tell this story in its entirety
These stories do not end until the day she climbs the top of that mountain
only then will her roots finally dig their toes deep within the sand of the Earth
to become more than the broken pieces others have assumed she’d always be.
