She talks a lot
And sometimes, not at all
She is always tired
But finds it hard to sleep
She has the weight of the world
On her little shoulders
And scars from decisions
She made in her youth.

She has a torrid past
Vague and complicated
Scared of going out alone
Because the world is a scary place
She has been used
She has been abused
Broken, distorted
And treated as a fool.

This dark haired fragile angel
Is my world
Her strength gives me strength
And I give her mine
We have allowed eachother
To finally exhale
After so many years
Of holding our breath.

She is not perfect
But, to me, she is
She makes me feel again
Like art should.