She wears the most alive colors,
she smiles the happiest,
she moves the freest.

But deep inside,
as cliché as it is,
her soul just a plain color,
her tears painting the most beautiful and horrid poetry,
she moves the deadliest.
She is nothing but the clandestine of freedom,
the unrecognized treasure of the world,
the one keeping your heart warm,
but theirs deadly cold and hard.

But guess what?
They are the strongest,
bravest and kindest.

The power of the eruption of the volcanoes,
the delicate dance of the hurricanes,
the unstoppable emotions of landslides,
the fear behind earthquakes,
and the sweet booming sound of thunderstorms.

She is the rule, she is the rebel.

She is the opposite of harmony—the queen of destruction.
She is the bullet that hits every core.
She is the scream in the most destructive and deadly pain.
She is the hymn in every songs burning to be sung.
She is the hurricane in the most peaceful places.
She is the dragon that screams delicate architecture, she is the ******* that runs the world.

Everyone talks about her.
Everyone doesn't know how she manages to control everyone's demons.
All they know, she always lies.
All they know, she runs hectares of scars.
No one knows she doesn't recognize everyone.
No one knows she always hug pillows.
Anyone tells her good bye.
Anyone demolishes her crystal walls.
But...
Someone loved her deadly marks.
Someone understood she is an art.