She is yet now Crying inside, written 04-22-08

She was a stature of love, She was a pillar of peace,
her heart beat with love, her faith was great,
She embodied with grace, she was a woman of heart;
A woman of soul.
But, she was lost...
She was lost inside of a tomb, a vain tomb of deceit.
It made her seem someone she wasn't,
She was perceived to be a person she was not.
Her heart was broken, Her love was torn,
She bled with tears of pain.
She hated the way people saw her,
At first glance she was pittied.
But really she was fun and endearing, intelligent, classy, loved by many.
But yet so lost in this 'casing',
This casing that consumed her.
She hated it, despised it, considered it the ugliest part of her being;
The blackest part of her heart shone thru.
She wasn't faithful to herself.
She had let herself go, let herself be lost, let herself die outside,
Let the pits of grim embody her appearence.
Why can't she change, she thinks...
Why can't the cycle be broken in her,
What preevents her from being that beautious woman that is on the inside?
The one screaming to shine thru?
Is she vain to want to look the same inside or out??
OR....Is she nieve to think that the inside is as pretty as she thinks-
Maybe, just maybe, the outside reflects the inside.
Maybe it really is as ugly as it seems.
Maybe it hates just as much or hurts more than she want to admit and believe.
Maybe she stops here and thinks it's true....
Maybe she is sad, hopeless, a wreck, a mess...who needs a hero-
She often dreams for that hero, it's her deepest desire;
For someone to pick her up and take her in his arms-
Yes she said his, but whose?
She isn't quite sure, but she wishes he would understand.
She would finally feel comfort and not disdain there;
Not feel as though she is a tool, but a true companion, a person.
She wants to be loved more than anything else.
She wants to be received, not rejected.
She wants him to take her gently, mold and and make her beautiful-
On the outside, and then, and only then would she feel as though her inside
Was great, peaceful, loved, and needed.
How perfect must she be for this to take place?
She fails as wife, as mother, and gives up as the 'lover' of her mate.
She hides from the real pain, even in front of her hero...
Why, he must not know, or he might discard her, he will not love her always.
He will find ways to hate her.
He will find ways to avoid her, to love something else more,
To crave another's grip, another's affection instead of her own.
Her scars are to deep, She will lose him too.
No hero can live and understand her pain also...
She can't let go, or understand it herself;
How can she expect the same from him?
But, Oh, to be loved....
Really, truly loved, every inch of his body, loving every inch of hers.
How could he, she wonders, when it looks like this grave?
What on earth would he see in her?
What does anyone really, truly see in her?
They are lies...all lies...
No one really knows, she doesn't even know...
Where is her Hero? Where is he? What takes him so long to figure her out?
To acknowledge and love her, even in her deepest, darkest, daily grave??
She need to be rescued from herself...she is falling,
Nothing is vain until it bleeds,
Until it breaks open, until it is fed what it is craving!
Let her fall asleep again dreaming that he is there to cushion her fall.
He is there to save her, to allow her the chance to be heard..
And when he does- Her voice is now clear.