New Girl

She has a beautiful smile.
She has lovely eyes.
Her voice is melodies of gold, played as platinum records on the drums of my ears.
Her skin as soft as her heart with a touch as gentle as the love she could have if she loved herself enough, to get loved.

Her self esteem is deflated by sharp words that puncture wounds into her perfection, so she's constantly rejecting gestures of compliments because all she knows is her imperfection.

Put her in a dark room and she'd still wonder about her reflection.
If her soul could reflect her physical appeal, would she then see how beautiful she could be if she she could free herself from those who find satisfaction from stealing her beauty.

Seems like her walls are twice as high as her confidence, cause her flaws got high on insults, and no matter how many compliments she drank, she was never drunk long enough for her to forget what insults sounded like.

I mean, I've had one conversation with her. She never said much, but I heard so much more than what she could say. I could tell her eyes were curious about me, but her mind reminded her that if she got too close, I'd never be mindful of her.

According to her, my aim is at her flaws. She sees me holding a gun full of emotionally draining bullets. She thinks I plan on firing her the same way her self esteem burned her so much that she can't tell a flame from a spark, so every conversation I try and spark, she puts it out with her flame of disbelief. She fights fire with fire.

Baby, I'm just trying to extinguish your fire so you never get burned again.