raw

She wasn't poetry.
She wasn't made of beautiful words
that rolled off the tongue.
Her smile wasn't as bright as the sun
and her eyes weren't made of the fucking stars.
She was none of those things.
She was real.
She was authentic.
She was raw.

She said what was on her mind,
and in her heart.
Sure,
she cried, but she wiped
her red puffy eyes picked up the pieces,
and handled it.

Because she realized a long time ago,
no one would be there for her every time.
She got her heart stomped on,
except her.
She was her own savior.
Her own lover.
And that my friend,
made her more beautiful than any verse
could.