She knows thousands,
but only loves rarely.
She sees hundreds everyday,
but only speaks to very few.
Many thinks she's selfish,
or hates them.
But really,
she's the outcast among all outcasts.
She dreams of the day where she can travel away,
to places where she can give all her love.
And never expect any in return.
She isn't all for love when it's being returned.
It's taken years for even family to know what she may truly think.
So she gives instead,
finding peace in nothing other than the love of loving.
This method leaves her to know so many,
their thoughts,
their actions,
how they love,
how they feel,
but it leaves only 2 knowing,
her thoughts,
her actions,
how she loves,
and how she feels.
It's nothing against the world or people,
It's just how she is.

She is said to be an old soul,
A woman as lady,
So young and so fair.
She lives for the day when she goes somewhere,
Somewhere where she isn't the only one who understands,
The trees whispers,
The suns kiss,
The roses voice,
And the musics belonging in her heart.
She's a dreamer really,
Always questioning,
Until she finds the truth.
Is she arrogant or kind?
Is she pretty are average?
Is she real or unimaginable?
Is she even  human?
Being in between doesn't bother an old soul like this lady.
But it doesn't stop her love for curiosity,
She just keeps moving on in a life,
That she wonders,
Why.
Why does everyone care so much,
About hair,
About nails,
About belonging,
About publicity.
She keeps moving on in a life,
That she wonders
If
If it is even real
If she wants to be happy or successful
If she wants to be adventurous
If she wants to marry
If she wants to have kids
But it's so wrong to not worry,
And to only wonder.
Should she worry?

STOP


The one thing she forgets is that when she is only slightly in peace her mind goes ballistic,
In a world like this, you have to stand still for a moment and just go blank.
She wonders,
She thinks,
She listens,
She sees,
Now it's time for peace.

An apple tree so bare.
My apples have been stripped from me.
I have nothing left.
No one bothers to sit beneath me anymore.
They only wish to clean my branches of the tasty treat I have created.
Day after day I wait for someone to care.
For someone to be grateful, instead if greedy.
They never actually see me.
They never sit to admire the way I have grown.
They use me, and wait until my treat is ripe again.
Just a thank you.
That's all I've ever wished to hear.