She was her own mesmerising kind of beauty.

With a few flaws that could drown in them her entire world.

Looking at her would be looking

at the best abstract art in the brightest of galleries.

Her scars clearly visible and wounds cut open, 

every scar a reminder of how amazing she had been 

and the wounds, prize of courage.

No doubt, she had been hurt, by them, least expected,

but now aware of life.

Sprinting around the edge of the knife. 

Carrying the most peaceful location with her as she would glow.

Just sit besides her, if You want to know. 

She would tell You how she's scared

of the dark, 

how she needs just one little spark.

A spark that would show You all the imperfections

she ever had, don't dare to run,

stay long enough, to be glad.

None understood the beauty she would hold,

standing high in the moonlight

with her dark side bold. 

She's a different kind of beauty, 

too precious to hold. 

A kind which would reveal itself

as she grew old.