Nobody knows,
the way her heart beats to the rhythm of a rhyme,
moving to the sway of a song.
Or the way her words unravel on the unborn pages that hatch in her head.
Like the pockets of seeds that settle in the late spring.
They pop,
and grow.
yet she doesn't grow.
A seed unhappy, unkempt, unloved.
Like a thorn in her side, a rock on her feet.
It encases her,
drowns her, until she suffocates.
Unable to hide from her true being.
Deformed and broken with her scars that sear.
From stares, she stumbles.
Anxious, envious, and cowardly.
Courageous, only in appearance,
When all she can do is choke on her words.
Nobody knows.