Half Girl

Once a girl almost of age

So bright on the outside

Was filled with blight she sought to cage

And slowly did she hide

 

Half and half she felt inside

Symbolic of her skin

Always sort of a great divide

Her war raged on within

 

Never one specific thing

Never just one choice

Neither this way or that did she swing

And this showed in her voice

 

Pretty little thing they said

And yet so ugly too

The blood in her veins not only red

But also somehow blue

 

Sometimes she's the Good Lord

Sometimes she's the Thief

Sometimes she's the Great Sword

Sometimes she's the Sheathe

 

She's a product of the world

But she isn't of the Earth

She's an unfortunate girl

Who's felt destiny from birth

 

Who is this half-breed I tell of

Whom of which I speak

Who is so overzealous

While still remaining meek

 

The girl that I speak of

Half Girl

That girl's a sight to see

The ever tragic Half Girl

That girl is only Me

This poem is about: 
Me

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