Portrait

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What a lovely picture
Smiling girl,
Long brown hair,
Soft as China silk,
Deep walnut eyes,
Full of light,
Pale pink lips,
Curved just up enough,
To be seen as happy,

You look straight at her,
Yet you don't even see her,
You don't see her as her people do,
Wild,
Fiery,
Fierce,
Independent,
Warrior,
Ivory teeth barred in a smile,
Or a sneer,
Fists busted and scarred,
From fights that weren't her's,
Knuckles of brass,
Glinting light of past wounds,
Thin lines of scars,
Paler than her milky moon skin,
Dotted in specks of things she'll never say,
Memories she'll never repeat,
Whether her hair wildly whips behind her,
Thrown back by an open car window,
Or drunkenly laughing,
Her sound filling holes others didn't know they had,
She loves those who don't deserve it,
Defends those who do,
She is her,
Loving,
Dangerous,
And free
And I doubt you'll ever really know.


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