They say not to make yourself small.
But then why must love be so big?
Can a person with power and confidence truly love as much as someone who gives their heart away?
Can power have a heart?
Naivety is all that seems senseful.
The less you know the happier perhaps?
They also say the best thing a girl can be in this world is a beautiful little fool.
But no that is for the hopeless.
God is within so I can never fall.
She has wisdom and innocence.
She needs the one who only wants one, someone who can see eye to eye.
Someone who can be young and dumb in the sober moments.
They can be infinite when they only even look at each other.
But this isn't about them.
It's about her.
She knows her worth.
Look into her eyes.
You'll see the pain of the past.
She loves old books.
She likes to be different.
Not wild, but free and also intelligent.
She's the girl who will love you so much she feels powerless.
So maybe she's better off alone.
She's perfectly content alone lost within her imagination.
She loves the white on the page.
She wants her innocence to be loved.
Is she Innocent?
God tells her of how beautiful she is.
Long brown hair, grey stones as eyes, and cheeks a little rosy.
A soul on fire and heart a little broken.
She will spend hours in the bookstore.
Blasting Mr. Martin in the roads.
Sitting in the rain bleeding onto the page.
She is powerful.
She cannot stop.
For what is better than to say I know God and he loves ME.
He wants me.
No one thing can ever bring her harm so long as she knows this.
She cries frequently because she feels the pain the world brings.
She cannot stand against the worldly pains yet but she can in God.
She's a quiet one but the thoughts in her head dance round and round constantly.
It's amazing she does not burst.
Her head seems to be her only enemy at times, but also her greatest comforter.
She wears the same old black boots, breaking at the seams.
Her best friend is a book.
She sits in the rain with no manicure on her fingers.
She wears the same old flannel.
And long flowy dresses that may reveal too much.
Her favorite color is black.
She doesn't pretend to like what everyone else pretends to "love".
She would rather watch Harry Potter on a Friday night than get drunk with them all.
She is classy in her own way.
She hates those Hate words.
She does not brush her hair.
She loves her kitten.
And her coffee.
She's quiet but not stuck up.
She's inward but loves herself.
She hates reality and loves Fairy tales.
She wears flowers on her head instead of her jewels.
She's 18 and still reads about the lost boys.
She likes to drink out of old teacups.
And eat expensive pastries.
She dreams about bouquets of peonies in all their simplicity.
She wonders what it will be like in the city.
She's reached heights she never thought obtainable.
She likes to think she's creative but who's to say what creativity is.
She's knows she's a bit crazy and dramatic at times but aren't the best of us all a bit mad?
She trusts no one, but oddly enough she trusts him.
SHE cannot be defined.