She

She,

Who smiles and understands

Do catches others’ tears

With her tired weary hands.

She,

The byword of finery inside

Goes breathing and running

But long before had died.

She,

Who makes other people laugh

Stands under the rain

Hoping that it’ll remove the cuff.

She,

Who gives all of her best,

Is never recognized

Been abandoned with the rest.

She,

Who was never enough

Had been used to misery

And forgot that it is tough.

She,

Who used to love herself

Been shattered many times

Her pieces kept in a shelf.