And as the tears streak her rosied cheeks, Making tracks like streams cutting through forests, She realized That the only thing that hurt more than crying about someone else Was crying about How much You hate yourself.
Her rage held all the power of a hurricane, and her eyes held all the fight of a wildfire.
She was not a sweet and dainty flower to be held, but rather a shard of jagged glass that could cut through the flesh of others to create a canvas on their skin.
I'm screaming but all you seem to hear is nothing but the wind rustling the leaves and the joyous robin's song whose only goal is to completely drown out my continuous pleas for help.