She wears a crown of blood, sweat and tears
Bloody, beaten and bruised.
Her scars tell a story no one can refuse.
Etched in every pulsing fibre of her skin.
A voice that roars against the din.
Pushed down seven times.
But she stood up eight.
Her heart knows not how to wait,
Because of the fire that runs through her veins.
She’s the oddity the universe’s rulebook never explains.
She is not made of human blood, but a brewing storm instead. Clawing her way back to the very place from which she once fled.
A dragon in her heart,
Constellations in her eyes,
Bruises she wears like emblems on her thighs.
Paving her path through the stinging nettles and burning brambles, Ignoring the outside world that ambles
She doesn’t listen to the rest of the world,
Because she is too busy
Carving her name in the voids between the stars.