She was poetry

I never quite understood why it was that no one loved her,

or at least, they didn’t love her like I did.

I never understood why no one else saw the way her hair shone brighter than the stars or the way her eyes gleamed like

the most precious emeralds.

I never understood why no one else saw that it was her chaos that made her beautiful, 

it was the flame that burned within.

I never understood why she wasn’t worshipped like the true celestial empress that she was,

stronger than any man.

I never understood why no one seemed to see that her soul was far too deep to be explored by those

afraid to take their feet from solid ground.

I never understood why it wasn’t noticed that she was far too full of life to be simply half-ignored, half-noticed,

half loved.

I never understood why they didn’t see that she wasn’t fragile like a flower, she was fragile like a grenade,

she was to be treated with the upmost respect.

I never understood why it wasn’t seen that she was made for far more beautiful things and that

chaos is only understood by the wild, not the weak.

Only now do I see it,

she was poetry.

She was poetry in a world that was still learning the alphabet.