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A poem for herself: Who is she?
She is a stone made of love and struggles
She's a sword forged by strong friendships and unbreakable bonds
She's a shield wielded for everything that nearly shtatters
She doesn't yield, she battles smeared in blood, and can still gently hold hands

She may seem like a Goddess of rage and war
But she is just a human with moments of weakness, sadness, and regret
At these moments, she would wait for the veil of night and wish on her star
She would sit with her books, plotting her scars on her melancholic silhouette

She is chaos and calm, a paradox for the unworthy thorns
She emanates fire, for it, she, they scorns
She is fallible, with foibles, she knows
Unadulteratedly loves, fiercely, defying laws

She is young, but with a mind filled with unspoken wisdom
She collects worlds with words creating her own kingdom
With an army of hardbound books to battle tedium
She is caged, but not a damsel, slowly she'll soon taste her true freedom


- April 14, 2024

© Rarity