I am not
Sexy
Or hot
Or attractive.
Not in the way other girls are.
My parents used to tell me
That I have the face of an angel,
Which is why I'll never look like the other girls.
I'm not flirty or funny or sexy.
Maybe that's why you don't touch me as often.
I don't blame you.
I'm a tear-stained mess.
I'm full of shrapnel and broken glass.
I'm stitched from thorns and vines.
I am not a Goddess
Or anything ethereal.
I am born of the earth and wind,
My compassion is the flowing river,
And my will is a burning inferno,
And I thought it would never go out.
But now,
I am a handful of burning embers.