Arms too thin for her already
frail body, a frame that is so
unbelievably weak, yet still
stronger than her mind.

A couple scratches on her
arms from when her thoughts
took control, a few clumsy
bruises from her parents
when they tried to fix her.

And she still has the crooked
grin, that smirk that just
screams self-confidence.
Or maybe it's simply to distract
anyone from looking at her
eyes, where grief and pain
attempt to hide in between the
shades of brown and green.
Eyes that have seen too much
but don't want anyone to know,
part of a face trying so hard
to be perfect enough for the
people who are so imperfect
themselves.