She lies,

And she does it so easily,

She hides,

And she does it so sneakily,

She rips apart hearts,

To her it’s all a game,

She’s actually very smart,

Yet she’s destructive without shame,

She’s pleasing to the eye,

But don’t get inside,

She’s no less than a mess but you won’t see her cry,

Beneath her skin lie the vines of her past she is trying to hide,

She’s screaming deep down but her face doesn’t show it,

And by the time she opens her mouth it’s too late to do shit,

By the time she tries to release some demons it’s in the rubble of another mess she’s caused,

And because of her actions, it is her very own future that she has paused,

She’s really done it now,

And she still wonders how,

How could she obliterate everything?

How could she love nothing?

How could she single-handedly ruin multiple lives?

How could she choose backs to be the target for her knives?

Oh what a mess it must be to be she,

Oh what a beautiful disaster it has been to be me

This poem is about: 
My family
My community
My country
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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