BRI JOHNSON

She was an image of perfection,
The epitome of elegance:
Brains, heart, drive,
She had it all.

Yet she had nothing.

She wore her heart on her sleeve,
Gracing the masses with her charms:
With her heart, her empathy, her soul,
Everyone knew her, everything about her.

No one knew her heart, and she faded into the cold façade they created for her.

If they would have listened, if they
would have seen,
How when they lifted her up, when they made her their queen,
She began to fall, to slip into the cracks,
Finding every place where she knows
that she lacks.

When she can never live up to who
they’ve made her to be,
When no one will stop, try to listen and see.
That’s all that she needed from you,
Someone to share what she’s been through.

Yet time after time, you told her no,
That she could make it, just suck it up and go.
But she’s giving you a last desperate shot;
Prove to her that you know what a gift
you’ve got.

This paradox of a person, for this
oblivious world,
Layer after layer, slowly coming unfurled.
She’s here for you, the second you call,
Every contradiction, every ounce, she’s
given it her all.

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