The Moon and Her
a young girl,
hair done up in braids.
I see a smile that could stop traffic on the streets.
I see her as the sun that shines
behind the grey clouds on the horizion
of poverty and sorrow.
The malicious streets that she walks upon.
The streets she splashes in the puddles
and skips down humming a favorite tune.
I see her sitting by the ocean playing with a doll,
A doll woven by sweat and tears.
Because she knew she didn't want it.
A doll obtained by trudging through mud.
Invisible mud that only she can feel.
And the mud makers.
Otherwise it's her secret.
And it's the doll that paints this whole picture
And masks the dirt
For her own eyes.
And she knew. The doll would soon grow.
Visibility of its existence wouldn't be masked anymore.
By the brightness of the sun.
Her self create sun.
And she will be hated for it.
But - Beyond the doll in her hand
The girl is full of pain - but still
full of passion and life.
Amongst all the chaos in her world,
she still smiles as bright as the moon,
as glistening as the starry sky.
But there wass one thing I knew about her,
She was like the moon-
part of her was always hidden,
A part of her I would never understand,
she would never allow
anybody
past certain walls.
And for such a young girl
I never knew why.
But as time wore on my heart,
I learnt to understand.
The part of her she kept away from others -
was the part that kept her glowing.
Glowing through all the darkness in the world which she lived.
The only part she had left
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