I am not
****
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 ****.

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.