I’ll tell you a story,
That starts with, a light;
About a girl close to my age,
Who danced alone, in the night.
She’s the quiet girl
Sitting always on her own,
Clutching close the books
That take her to places, unknown.
In the dead of night,
When the world is fast asleep,
She’s the only window, with a light on;
Reading words, like others count their sheep.
But on the rare Friday night,
When in her house, she’s all alone,
With music blaring in the background,
You’ll find her dancing, on her own.
Her very soul, is made of words;
Of songs, and poems expressing love;
And when she buries herself deep beneath them,
She starts to feel like, she’s enough.
But the words are just a shell,
A tall wall shielding her from harm,
Because she usually feels odd, and weird,
And like she doesn’t have, a drop, of charm.
So when she hides behind her music,
Her poems, and her books,
She feels as confident as ever,
Even about her shabby looks.
Behind her glasses, and her freckles,
And her extra pound, or two,
There beats the heart of an explorer,
Dreaming of adventure and finding clues.
But being confident, is not so easy,
As all of us have come to know,
There is always something, unagreeable about you,
That people will notice, and use, to dampen your glow.
For people are bad,
And sometimes can be so cruel;
Always trying to ruin the gorgeous sparkle,
Of even the most precious jewel.
Society has the hobby,
Of taking the rarest of gems,
And cutting and molding
Until the final product, pleases them.
Every one of us is a precious stone.
And, want to believe it, or not,
In all of us hides, a fraction, of the girl,
That I’ve been describing, up above.
Even the greatest of heroes,
Sometimes has trouble being confident,
So, don’t lose hope, or let your sparkle fade,
For the sake, of fitting in.
Creație Singing through the sorm
