An angel they called the princess,

even scarred she was perfect.

Whenever she stumbled, cuts and scrapes blemishing her wings,

they clamored around-

"Where does it hurt?"

She would point at her arm, leg, face

And no matter how hard she tried to hide,

They would always see the hurt she tried to bury.

Then she grows up, no longer a princess

but a queen and in control.

So when she falls, she falls hard.

Her wings burning and tearing as she plummets,

the impact jarring her as she lays in pain.

This time there isn't anyone around.

They don't notice her suffering,

the burnt wings or ugly scars.

They don't see her broken heart or eyes,

how shattered and fragile they are.

They don't see that pain that was once hidden

now on the surface.

She points at the cuts, scrapes, her broken soul,

but no one notices.

When did she get so good at hiding?