She picked the pieces of my self-confidence when I felt nothing but ugliness staring back at me in front of the mirror.
She fought for me
She had always been there
Like a soul
Maybe separated from my body
But near to my heart
Her knuckles brush my tears away
As soon as they are midway
As she nods every time I ask for something to do anyway.
She tells me I will never win against her in any fighting play.
She is like a marble statue for me that always slays.
I remember her the most.
Even days that make me feel like the post.
She is morally grey,
Good for Good.
Bad for bad.
She isn’t flawless, but she teaches me the more we will believe we are. The More we will be flawless.
She is a fire in a honey jar.