She was not fragile like a flower; she was fragile like a bomb

Girls like her were born in a storm. They have lighting in their souls, thunder in the hearts, and chaos in their bones

Her soul was too deep to explore by those who always swam in the shallow end

She is a combination of sensitive and savage

She didn’t need to be saved. She needed to be found and appreciated for exactly who she was

She is fire and ice. You’ll fear the cold, and crave the burn

She’s a tornado with pretty eyes and a heartbeat

She was poetry in a world still learning the alphabet

She was either wildly naive, or dangerously intelligent

What’s a queen without her king? Well, historically speaking, more powerful

That was her magic, she could still see the sunset, even on those darkest days

She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art isn’t supposed to look nice; it’s supposed to make you feel something.

She’s the flowers, but she’s also the rain. She’s the beauty of day, but also the nights full of pain.

She’s a tornado with pretty eyes and a heartbeat

She sees in black and white, thinks in grey, but loves in color